The Rise of the Hellfire Club
by Peace215
Summary: <html><head></head>A reemerging Rogue, a thief with ties to Storm, a rising Hellfire club and the reappearance of old friends thought dead are just the tip of the iceberg. The X-Men must now handle their continuing grief and the mounting war on mutants. Full summary inside.</html>
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these amazing, wonderful, colorful characters. If I did, I wouldn't be writing _fan_fiction.

**AN:** I've recently been kidnapped by the _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ cartoon series section; a bit late, but a wonderful read. And I've been mildly obsessed with _Teen Titans_ for a few years now. Yet I will never forget my first love: _X-Men_. So yes I've been away, but this story has sat on the computer for almost a year; I'd thought I'd try it out and see what I can do with it.

Most likely the story line has been done to death, and knowing what the new X-Men Movie has in store for us, this will become AU. But bear with me. Updates might be infrequent, and I'm afraid with life sometimes updating/ writing is not an option. I've had a rough road but I'm trying to get back into it again. Grammar is probably atrocious (I've never been good at it, and I won't pretend to be), but the story will tie in with the last Four X-Men's, and an arc not discovered (at least openly) on screen will appear.

To those of my other stories, do not fear. Updates will come!

On that note, enjoy the read, and tell me what you think!

**Summary:** The war that Magneto had thought to begin on Alcatraz Island, has taken off to new heights. Mutants are being hunted, persecuted for their abilities and hate crimes are of the norm. Charles Xavier's School for Gift Youngsters has opened their doors and has enrolled more children than previously thought. Ororo, Logan and Hank take care of the school in the wake of their friends and colleagues' passing, and have begun to heal from their deaths. The X-Team has grown adding old friends like Angel and Nightcrawler; with an added member of Elizabeth "Betsy" Braddock, who goes by the codename of Psylocke. Bobby, Kitty, and Piotr have become fully fledged members while Rogue begins to become an active member again. Her powers are reemerging in new and frightening ways as the Cure is revealed as a falsity.

And now in the middle of the tense battle for presidency is the Hellfire Club; an elite social club bent on helping mutants where they can - or so everyone thinks. They are not in the pacifist ways Xavier preached. They have their own agenda and now the X-Men have another terrorist group to worry about, a newly emerging Rogue, a thief with ties to Logan and Ororo, and a curious young blond woman who knows more about Logan than meets the eye. Not to mention the reappearances of a redhead that could undo the simple calm the Institute has begun to restore.

**The Rise of the Hellfire Club**

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><p><em> "If war comes upon us, it will come as a thief in the night" - Eamon de Valera<em>

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><p>His legs are long and steady, running hurriedly over the neatly cropped emerald green fields. He can hear the crickets beneath him chirping happily and the whiz of the red alarms overhead. He dashes through the high hedges, rolling as he goes while pushing with his palms expertly into a handstand.<p>

A thin line of red cuts across in front of him before blinking away. He counts to four and sees the light again. He smirks. _'Just like I figured.'_ He thinks smoothly and flips as the light blinks away once more. He crouches low as another shoots over his head and darts by his left forearm. He chuckles softly, extracting his bo staff slowly, the red disappearing briefly. They reappear in different sections, one cutting by his left temple and the second by his steel toed boot tops. They vanish and he hurls himself into the air with his long adamantum staff wasting no time to his goal. He soars above the red beams until he lands gently, one foot on the sill of the window.

He stands rigidly as a sweeping green beam blinks by his left fist and cuts through the air deftly almost hitting him in the gut. He sucks in a breath as it zips by; sweat dripping off his brow and he snorts to himself. _'Step one, complete.'_

Adjusting his step, he leans forward with his shoulder and uses his free hand to draw a small square on to the glass window pane directly in front of him. It glows a red violet, almost magenta color before it pops forward into his out reached palm. He chucks it over his shoulder, reaches to undo the clasp at the top of the window and manages to drop in before the green light sweeps pass again.

He drops in a crouch, his knees pulled up to his neck. His shaggy wisps of auburn hair drift into his brilliantly demonic red on black eyes as a slow easy grin spreads along his sharp angular face. He rubs his day old stubble ruefully. Now this was the fun part.

Quickly he moves to a standing position, pulling his trench coat tightly as if making sure he is proper and flicks a playing card into his palm. It begins to glow a dim red light, leading him to the door and out into the corridor. He waits on baited breath hearing nothing that sounds like footsteps, shouts of an intruder or whispered voices in the dark. He smirks and heads to the left, knowing exactly where he had to go to reach the stairs.

Within moments Gambit is standing outside the large room of Smithsonian inner vault. It isn't like it was hard getting into the lower levels, as he easily planed out his heist days in advance. What kind of thief would he be if he hadn't?

He shakes his head as he laughs and lights up a cigarette. Not to mention a security guard with ties to the _family _has been very gracious with his information. Quietly Gambit takes a deep drag; letting the nicotine carry along his lungs, before he blows the smoke out into the room. A maze of red and blue, some bright orange lines crisscross over the lightly polished grey marble flooring.

He whistles in appreciation. "Knew it couldn't have been that easy," he comments dryly. It is the Smithsonian after all. He expects only the best.

Tossing his cigarette away, he retracts his bo staff. Hesitating just a second, Gambit twirls the metal over his knuckles before slamming it down into the maze of lights. Quickly he charges the staff, sending waves of bright purple vibrating through the cracks, lighting the inside up like a fireworks display on the fourth of July. Gambit chuckles as the security begins to wail and just as swiftly shuts down. He watches intently, the maze of lights begin to fizzle out until they completely shut off. The room becomes silent and dark.

Gambit nods once to himself and taps the walls cautiously. He had only used his powers to short circuit a few times in the past; not nearly of those times had seemed as thoroughly done as this one. He takes one step in to test the pressure activated flooring and nothing happens. Gambit closes his staff and swiftly closes in on the far glass case he was sent in to plunder.

He reaches it and cracks his knuckles thoughtfully. He doesn't have much time knowing the alarm would have awoken even the most asleep of guards and begins to let the tingle of his powers fill his finger tips. He eases his fingerless gloves over the glass, drawing a long oval and much in the same way he had done to the outside window, pops the glass into his palm. The pressurized air begins to leak out and Gambit grabs the object as his other hand opens a small soft canvas bag to house it in.

He glances once at it, shaking his head in thought. All this trouble for a funny looking man statue? It was maybe five inches tall, four inches around with a very serious looking hunched man leaning on a heavy pole. Decorative feathers are etched into the hard stone and the weight was hefty. Gambit once again shakes his head and drops the artifact into the bag, sealing it tightly before making his way to the escape.

Moving to the door he can hear footsteps above him. He glances up and sighs as if disappointed. They were taking the stairs, and much to Gambit's fun, wouldn't find Gambit when he decided to leave. He takes two long steps to a dumb weight system – very handy for exchanging information in such a large place as the Smithsonian was - and lifts himself into the small space while closing the metal door soundly.

The system begins to hoist him into the air as shouts yell below him. He smirks realizing they have discovered the man statue missing. The pulleys stop as Gambit opens the door, seeing the front entrance of the main museum building in front of him. He jumps down on light feet, the weight of the artifact cutting into his hip as it rests comfortably in his trench coat pocket and walks his way smoothly to the doors.

Carefully removing two playing cards Gambit flings each at nearby security cameras, the small explosions resonating in the empty halls. Arrogantly and with reason, Gambit strides from the glass doors, the locks melting away under his warm touch. He takes off into a dead run as he clears the large front lawn of the museum. It would be a few minutes between him and the rent-a-cops if they were as quick as he (which was as unlikely as them having his mutant abilities) but his heart thuds happily in his ears as adrenaline merrily pools in his veins. He smiles brightly as he takes out his staff in his escape and expertly flings himself over the tall black fencing surrounding the grass; he barely sweats at the ease in which he exerts himself.

It feels like he's coming home.

He lands in a tight crouch on the other side and listens intently behind him, his breath heavy but quiet. He doesn't hear a thing.

Gambit stands and chuckles softly to himself before pulling out another cigarette, the tip flaring to life under his finger. He knew the simple guards wouldn't be as quick as him but his body still hums to the excitement of it all. Shaking his head, the thief laughs carelessly before returning to his awaiting motorcycle in the shadows a mile away.

That was almost _too_ easy.

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><p>Her arms are crossed tightly over her stomach. Long dark red sleeves rustle against the strain, her small black leather gloves firm across her knuckles as she waits. She barely recognizes the pictures on the television before her – her ears are tuned to the motorcycle that should bring Logan back from his latest mission.<p>

She wouldn't call herself obsessed. She scoffs lightly, her jean clad leg tapping to an unknown beat inside her head. She isn't even sure if she knows the song, or if it was a residual effect from a previous draining that's come back to haunt her.

Rogue isn't obsessed, but she was missing Logan something fierce.

A rumble from the distance sounds and Rogue lets her ears turn in that direction. Her body goes rigid with anticipation. Her eyes are bright with expectance. It goes by softly and she knows it isn't him. Can't be – his bike is loud and worn in, dusty from travel and a baritone deeper.

Ever since Alcatraz, ever since her taking the Cure and subsequent return of her powers, Logan has been by her side. He was there in the night when the first memories she absorbed from him hit her hard and fast in her sleep while she had been unsuspecting. He was there helping her fine tune her official X-Men skills of leadership and scouting without the abilities she thought she had lost. He has been there for her when she's been down, out and totally off her game.

She isn't obsessed, but she is missing a very close friend; a friend who supports and watches out for her during her darkest moments.

And he has been gone three days. Three days away from the mansion was an eternity to Rogue. It wasn't like she didn't have other friends – she did! Jubes and Kitty were in fact close to Rogue now. But after her break up with Bobby, which both parties separated under good circumstances, Kitty was constantly tied to Bobby's side. She was starting to think of herself as the third wheel and it was uncomfortable to say the least.

At least with Logan it was always the two of them. She didn't have to think about consequences, or problems when around him because he just knew how to handle her. He was a friend, and sometimes overprotective father figure who knew her boundaries but didn't make her feel like a freak to go out of his way from touching her. It was less suffocating, and a bright spot to her life to know she had that someone in her corner. She needed that someone in her corner.

Rogue stands, stretching her tired legs. She hears laughter from the hallway and knows it is Bobby and Kitty. A small smile forms on her mouth as she thinks on the cute glances her two friends show each other. Inside there is a small ache, a desperate, dusty pang that hollows out her stomach when she thinks about their happiness but it normally doesn't last long. She likes knowing her friends are happy with each other, even if she isn't. Rogue isn't selfish enough to wish them ill harm.

Sometimes the world played out like it did for reasons those couldn't see. She knows that all too well.

Slowly she turns to the window, seeing young students run across the large front yard. She can hear the laughter from Mr. McCoy, a permanent fixture since the passing of the Professor, Jean and Scott. He really was a very likeable man with an optimistic point of view on the world, that sometimes Rogue often found herself admiring his perspective.

Surely, a man thought to be a beast could teach her a few things at remaining hopeful? She looks down at the leather, and instantly feels a bittersweet feeling grow in the pit of her stomach. She had been finally free of the burden, to be able to touch, and yet she had never been fully accepted for her choice. Yet when her powers came back, and the gloves were back on, it was like a 'coming home' feeling. She was either isolated and comfortable, or free and shunned. She didn't know which she preferred.

She doesn't regret trying the Cure before the clinics were shut down though. In fact she was glad she did. Those few nights able to sleep next to Bobby and not worrying about killing him, had erased a huge weight off her shoulders. But when they reemerged, it was like finding a part of her that had been hidden. Lost in the excitement of free touch. She was still careful after her powers re-manifested, but now she had something to work towards. Now she knew she had to try harder; because she wanted to touch again. She wanted to conquer that fear of her powers that held her back. Not having her powers, then getting them back gave her more hope to be touchable.

Rogue didn't feel like a coward in taking the Cure, but on some level she knew she had been. Control was possible. She just had to work at it. And, as she turns to look at the road with the distant sounds of a bike coming nearer, her powers were more manageable now. She still couldn't touch someone for long before they kicked in, but she was slowly gaining knowledge about how they worked.

Since the Cure her powers had become weird she realizes in a moment of clarity. Sometimes they worked and sometimes they were delayed. It was frustrating and exhilarating because it meant she could manage them in time. It meant they were possibly meant Rogue was a very hopeful yoyung woman who wanted to practice and train every second of every day because soon she could do it. Soon she would have control.

And although she was still dressed and covered at all times, it is a bittersweet feeling, that hope and want in her chest, because she knows soon, soon she'd be normal. Soon she'd have the control she often talked to the Professor about; and she feels proud that he might see this from wherever he is in the underworld, whether in Heaven like Kurt says or another place like Storm believes. She does this for him and Jean and Scott. They said she could do it, and slowly she is. It's their constant belief in her, and her own hope that she feels she can finally achieve her goals.

_Control._

The bike becomes louder and Rogue looks to the entrance way, a black and silver bike coming into view. A bright smile appears across her pale face and she begins her trot to the garage. She'll meet him when he gets off the bike and the excited feeling at seeing her close friend and mentor again is enough to make her break into a dead run. He's finally home. _Again._

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><p>The Harley gleams under the harsh florescent lights as Logan turns the engine off. He pulls the helmet from his skull, sniffing the air quietly as a small knowing smile graces his harsh features. Standing in the doorway is Rogue, her hair pulled harshly back in a high ponytail with the two streaks of white dancing in her eyes. She looks ready to tackle him at any moment.<p>

He stands with his duffel bag and feels her knock into him. Her arms are slender but tight and he can't help but hug her with his remaining one arm. He smiles but hides it as she looks up. "Miss me kid?"

"Not really," she smiles and her Southern accent is dulled slightly. It's been coming out less and less the more she stays in the mansion and New York area. He remembers a time when he could barely understand her tumbled speech; he also remembers a time when Rogue was a little girl frightened but stubborn and not the young mature, determined woman before him.

It's enough to make him snort at himself in fondness.

She pulls back slightly and walks next to him to the entrance way. "How was your trip? Get ta do anything excitin'?"

He walks ahead of her and shakes his head ruefully. "You know Storm. The more recruits, the better. Couldn't find any where I was."

"And where were ya?"

"Vermont. Went to a few bars, few schools. Never had any biters."

Rogue nods slightly before they head toward the main hallway. Logan looks around at the empty corridors and looks back her suspiciously. "Where is everyone?"

She shrugs. "Most are hangin' in the rec room, or outside. Some went home. It's winter break at the end of the week. Holiday times an' all that." She dismisses easily but Logan can hear a bit of disappointment in her words. Holidays always sucked for the both of them.

"C'mon, I've got to debrief to Storm." He nudges her shoulder playfully and she laughs happily at him. They walk together in amicable silence until they reach Storm's office.

As they walk in, Rogue is taken back by how much it hasn't changed since the Professor's death. Storm was very careful not to move much, or to take anything away. She, like the rest of student body, was still grieving the loss of their mentor and by honoring his memory she keeps the office relatively the same. Rogue can spot a few placed plants of Ororo's chosen likes, but it has remained untouched in the Professor's absence.

Softly Rogue pads over to the bay window and through the distance can see the three lone tombstones in the dying sun. A pang strikes her but she is pulled away as Ororo hugs Logan tightly.

"Logan!" She says happily. Rogue smiles as Logan tightens with the contact. "How are you? How was your trip?"

"Hey 'Ro." He manages to mumble before she pulls back. He faces is slightly pink from her treatment. "Same old, same old. Nothing yet."

The shock of white hair bobs with understanding. Rogue can see the happiness of a friend fill her but her duties to the school calm her giddiness. "We shouldn't have to wait long. With the growing tension in the world, our halls will be filled with more students seeking refuge." She shakes her head, winking at Rogue. "Even more so than now. At least that's what Hank says."

"He's right though 'Ro." Logan replies, dropping his bag soundly. "The election is coming up. With what happened a few months back," he clears his throat looking away from the two women quietly as a thought takes him. Rogue can't help but sympathize for the grief Logan still feels for Jean's death.

She couldn't image the sacrifices that Logan made, killing Jean to save them all. And deep down, Rogue knows she would never want to know how much Logan feels about his actions. She knows it must eat at him when he thinks on it; when Jean had passed the first time, Rogue had felt the same grief. She had blamed herself for crashing the blackbird and almost forcing Jean to make her first decision. Now, she empathizes with Logan for his own torment.

He was an honorable man. He was taught to be an animal. But it didn't mean he liked knowing what he did. At least that much Rogue has learned through his thoughts and memories that come to her in wisps.

"With what happened a few months back," he begins again, his words slow and low. "We can't just assume the world is going to forget what mutants did. It happened, now we have to deal with the fall out."

"You are right," Ororo agrees softly. She runs a smooth dark hand through her short white locks in agitation. She looks like she is about to say something else but a rustling at the door stops her.

A knock sounds on the heavy cherry wooden door pulling the three teammates away from their conversation. Hank's blue furry face greets them elegantly. "Sorry to interrupt my friends," he nods once to Logan who tilts his head in return. Beast enters fully with his white button up and neatly pressed grey pants looking foreign beside Logan's holed blue jeans and leather jacket. "But I believe there is something you must see on the television."

They enter the recreational room, students gathering around the television. Most sit on top of each other or stand toward the back. The room is packed full of the last remaining, older and taller students.

Rogue enters with Logan, Ororo and Hank following behind her. She spots Bobby and Kitty by the paneled wall, Piotr leaning over them. Warren and Kurt are in the back corner with the new recruit Elizabeth 'Besty' Braddock; an Asian woman with purple hair and a hard British accent. Someone yells to turn the volume up, as another kid adjusts on the carpet and does as commanded.

Bobby spots her and waves her over to their group. Rogue glances once back at the other adults before stepping carefully to her friends' sides. "Bobby, what's going on?"

Robert "Bobby" Drake, the infamous Iceman who had been caught by news reporters for icing Pyro during their last battle, shrugs worriedly. "I'm not sure." His arm tightens around Kitty. His eyes trail over her, and she shrugs to his unasked question. She doesn't know anything either. "Something big is happening down in D.C."

A news reporter, the same one who had captured Bobby using his talents, appears on the screen. Her short black hair is prim and proper and her olive green suit meshes with her slightly tanned skin. She begins to speak, "Today a rally has begun in front of the White House. A man named Graydon Creed, leader of Friends of Humanity, has begun talks of presidency next month. We take you now to the coverage-"

The camera pans out as a man, tall and well built with slicked back yellow hair and green eyes stares charmingly at the camera. The background is lighter, having been recorded earlier that day. He is speaking well before the sound on the recording catches up with their replay. "...the mutants have started a war with humankind! They battle us for dominance, going so far as to publicly make a stand at Alcatraz months ago. I refuse to stand by and let our race become exterminated by people with cellular abnormalities."

"Knew it was coming," Logan says from the back of the room. A few kids nod their agreement as Ororo moves closer to the picture, closer to the other, younger members of the X-Men. Her mouth is in a straight line, her eyes dark with concern.

"Are they being punished for their crimes? Of course not – some have lost their powers." He nods to the people at his feet. Rogue can see the sweat trick down his jaw, his bulky coat ruffling in the late fall wind. "But they have regained them! How are we to know who is safe and who isn't? What if this Cure was the first step to knowing who is lethal and who isn't-" Rogue ducks her head as a few glances come her way. Ororo puts a comforting hand on her shoulder before they look on once more.

"I claim my run to presidency here and now. If voted into the White House, I promise you we will protect those who have much to lose – _Homo sapiens_. I will reintroduce the Registration Act, to know where the dangers lurk. We have lists for sex offenders to be careful, horrible places in certain cities mapped out to stay clear, why not a list of mutants to avoid?

"Elect me. _Graydon Creed will keep you safe_."

The TV clicks off as Bobby punches the wall in frustration. "Bobby, calm down." Kitty soothes but she feels as annoyed as Bobby and the others do.

"It's not fair. We didn't break the law. We shouldn't be persecuted. They have those that were at Alcatraz. And we were the ones who stopped _them_."

"Well they did young Robert Drake," Hank responds. He shrugs his massive shoulders as all eyes are glued to him. He adjusts his glasses before speaking again. "After we discovered the Cure was not as permanent as originally thought," Rogue bows her head again in embarrassment but Beast never looks at her. "We warned the government that mutants more dangerous, who had lost their powers, would soon ultimately regain them."

"Namely, Magneto." Logan supplies.

"And Mystique." Ororo adds.

"Yes. But once we passed the information along it seems our friend Erik and Raven had disappeared off the radar. Our only consolation was Pyro, who is still locked away within the government base specially made for his mutation."

"So what does this mean for us then?" Rogue asks. Her palms are itchy under her gloves as they sweat with worry and adrenaline. She can feel something in the air; tension and budding duty in her teammates grow. The kids around them grow restless with the feelings as if they can too sense something in the air shift. Ororo stands tall as the younger students begin to file out. They can see the determined look in her eyes and know official business is about to be spoken.

Once the children leave and only the X-team remains, including Nightcrawler, Angel and Psylocke, Storm looks at them each in turn. "We fight. We stand our ground, and we show humans why mutants aren't to be feared. We're the good guys. We have to show them that. That's what we do."

Logan walks forward, his hands in his jean pockets, and a small smile on his face. A glint in his eyes makes Rogue stand taller in pride. "And we get ready. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Creed is the least of our worries."

"Yes," Hank agrees readily. "Mutants will react to this. We must become ready to handle both sides of the war. We will become the voice of reason in these troubling times."

Storm nods and smiles encouragingly at her team; she was the leader now, and these were her people. Deep down, she knows this is what the X-Men are about. They keep the peace and help the coexistence of mutants and humans. She only wishes Charles was there to see his school begin to flourish with his principals in mind.

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><p>Back in a darkened hospital room, a comatose man lays, sleeping peacefully. He hasn't regained consciousness, nor will he ever as his brain is too far gone to be repaired. He lives on oxygen from a tube, a machine to keep his heart and lungs functioning, and a saline drip to provide him with fluids. He is unaware another presence fills his body.<p>

His eyes struggle to lift; they struggle to move to let the shadows disappear to the presence inside his mind. He cannot budge them. His fingers tweak, and clench but they too do not move further. Softly he moans, trying to make words slip from his mouth for help but not only can he not do this, there is no one there to hear him should he say something.

The presence relaxes slightly, and begins to gather its strength. It knows what happened, what occurred months ago. He knows he is not in his own body, but in another host. He knows he is not truly powerful enough to do this on his own. And the only person who he would call to help is dead, much like everyone thinks he is.

But another thought strikes. He knows of another person, strong enough to reach him. One who he met many years ago; though she won't remember him. He has been watching her for some time before his fight with the Phoenix; before he lost his students to insanity and war. He knows she is powerful enough to help. He gathers more strength, harnessing his amazing and truly unique powers before sending out a beacon from the comatose man's brain. It is strong, but invisible and he pushes it to reach his target.

_'Emma. Can you hear me? Emma, it is me Professor Charles Xavier. Emma, I need your help...'_

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Well? What do you think? Trust me, this is just the beginning.

Drop me a line; I love to hear from readers.

_Peace_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**AN:** Chapter Two! Thank you for the kind responses, and the many – many – author/ story alerts.

Trust me when I say everything, all parts, will eventually tie together. Just have patience with me.

**A word about accents** – you'll notice some in Rogue and Gambit's speeches. In the movies Gambit has a soft twang, and Rogue's goes in and out as if the North is started to affect her. I've tried replicating that here (I've added more "French" for Gambit though, because I love it). As for Piotr (who I don't think had much of an accent in the films) or Kurt, I didn't write one out as thoroughly. I just don't think I could do enough justice to Kurt's Germanic accent, nor Piotr's Russian. You'll notice a soft lilting in Storm's accent (I liked that about the first film, and am trying to keep it going). The others, I've tried to hear their voices, so if they don't sound right to you, please let me know. I want to stay as true to characters as possible.

Enjoy!

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><p>"<em>Learn to expect the unexpected, for it is often the unexpected that happens to us in life." – Unknown.<em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Remy LeBeau leans on the doorway with his arms crossed loosely in front of himself. He's dressed comfortably, wearing a pair of designer shoes, a silk purple shirt and the fedora he won himself in a poker game when he was a pup. His bo staff is tucked neatly into his old trench coat, along with two decks of playing cards, opened, one not, a pack of cigarettes, loose money and the little ugly man statue he stole two nights ago.

He taps it lightly with his left hand, and feels the weight hit him in the thigh. Slowly he sighs, calming his nerves and steeling his mind before turning to enter the abandoned warehouse. He takes one step in, the sounds of the Hudson playing in the background, the smell of trash and dust tickling his nose, and all the while he watches for a trick. He watches for a fight. He especially watches for rats, because there is no way he'll ruin his shoes in this place. They were new.

He confidently walks to the center of the room with one single lamp hanging above him. It only illuminates a small circle and he is instantly reminded of the old PI films where the hero makes an exchange with the villain for the safety of another. He smirks at himself as another body moves into his sight; cutting his train of thought sharply.

One lone thigh high boot steps closer followed by another white duplicate. Remy lets his eyes travel up the slender curved woman's body, the tight white panties and stitched corset top leaving nothing to the imagination. He sees the heavy white cape billowing behind her as her hands find those small hips. He looks up into crystallized, blue, cold calculating eyes to the sheer straight platinum blonde hair. Remy smiles charmingly, falling back on old habits that have gotten him out of many jams in the past.

Charm never hurt anyone before. And it sure as hell has helped Remy LeBeau in tough situations with beautiful women.

"And here I thought I was meetin' wit' a man. Guess Lady Luck is really on ol' Remy's side eh?" He flirts as her lips twitch with a repressed scowl. She glances down to the package, hanging limply at his side. Her eyes become slits.

"I do hope that is what I was paying you for, Mr. LeBeau. Wouldn't want you to think I was here to play."

"Y'not _chere_? Oh that is a shame then. Y' look like you'd want to play with me. Maybe breaks out into handcuffs or the whip eh?"

Her hand rises in front of her, waiting for him to deposit the package. She looks at him steadily and cringes when he pouts. She knows Remy LeBeau is a notorious lady charmer, but it turns her stomach sour when he tries that on her.

She snorts silently as he unties the bands around his belt. He had one hell of a nerve trying to charm her. Emma Grace Frost did not charm easily.

"Here y'go _femme_. Why ya' want this piece of history anyhow? Just looks like a funny little statue to put on a bookshelf."

Emma narrows her eyes, taking the bag carefully. Her long white satin gloves make a slight noise as she searches the bag for the contents. A sharp jab of the staff and she knows he's grabbed the right one. She lets a small prayer go under her breath as she ties the bag to her cape for safe keeping. "I did not hire you to ask questions, Mr. LeBeau. Only to procure a lost object."

His eyes crinkle in humor but his face remains emotionless. Remy was not paid to ask questions, but she highly doubts he does not know how valuable the statue is; how expensive, how rare it truly was. The questions are for show only. Remy LeBeau is a calculating, sharp man, though Emma cannot see the intelligence behind the bayou boy exterior.

She dully notes the expensive shoes and tailored shirt, and begrudgingly cannot think badly of his tastes, either. She rarely meets a man that knows how to dress properly. "That y'did. Now my fee, if ya's please." Remy bows once, as Emma searches in one of her pockets of the cape to throw a thick envelope into his awaiting hands.

He smiles a smooth grin before saluting to the blond woman, carefully flicking the bills to count what he's due. He never did catch her name. "_Merci, femme_. Now enjoy the spoils." He waves absently behind him, before moving back into the shadows left behind from the singular lamp. He's got a bottle of bourbon with his name on it somewhere and he doesn't want to be late.

Emma waits until the door opens then closes leaving her alone in the warehouse. She sighs relieved the thief did what he was hired to do; she'll have to thank her associate for his suggestion. She closes her cape, and heads in the opposite direction to where her white limo rests quietly behind the wharf. Her hand lands on the doorknob, her thoughts on her next step as a lightening pain overtakes her mind.

It strikes her temple first. She screams blindly, falling to her knees, hands clenching her ears. She can't see straight as white hot pain shoots through her bones, her nerves set dancing as if flames travel them. She screams again, pure anguish clouding her vocals as she crouches on to herself. Blindly she grips for the door handle and feels another burst claim her limbs, paralyzing her movements for escape.

"Stop it. Stop it! _Stop it!"_

She chants loudly, willing the pain to ease. Tears form in her eyes and dimly she makes herself not cry. Emma doesn't cry. She can feel another in her mind, the broadcast of pure power in her brain. A door opens, banging as if pushed aside and she is sucked through to another set of eyes. Astral, or physically she cannot tell right now as her mind is confused and her senses skewed. She screams again, but this time can only hear it echo in her mind. Her mouth does not open.

_'Where am I?'_

_'Emma, it is me, Professor Xavier. I've been trying to reach you for a few days now.'_

She's panting and hurting and she can't make the pain stop. It's driving her to the brink and she feels like she is convulsing on the floor in the warehouse; the hardwood and dirt rubbing over her bare arms and legs roughly. She'll have red marks for days after. She looks around; all she sees is darkness and shadows. _'Xavier?'_ She thinks and tries to catch her breath.

The pain begins to ebb away. She feels her shoulders slump and a slow calm fill her_. 'I'm sorry for the intrusion. You're mind is stronger than you would think.'_

_'My mind...'_ she trails off and like a light switch has been flicked on, Charles Xavier appears to her. He is standing, his frame slender and his head gleaming in the sudden light. He smiles at her warmly, as if they are old friends._ 'We aren't in my mind.'_

_'No, unfortunately not. I'm broadcasting from another host's mind. He is comatose with no way of awaking. I was transported there when my body was killed.'_

Briefly Xavier projects the images of his fight with the Phoenix and his ultimate destruction at the hands of his oldest student to the young woman. Emma feels herself blink once as the pictures stop and she in turn stands. Her legs wobble. She looks down and sees her body hover. _'We're on the astral plane. You teleported me against my will ,here, to the astral plane.'_ Her voice is shrewd and annoyed. _'May I inquire why Xavier?'_ She asks snidely. Charles ignores her, favoring her with another smile to ease tension.

_'I need your help.'_

She glances around with a skeptical eyebrow. _'With decorating? I'd love to help, but my Interior Designer isn't a Psychic_.' Not to mention, decorating the Astral Plane is more difficult than most tasks; it was a never ending, always changing field most psychics used as a way to communicate. Souls were often said to be sent to the Astral Plane.

She often wonders if Kayla was one such soul. She shakes loose the thought.

_'With helping me get out of here.'_ He completely ignores her comments, pointing to his head. Though it is not his head he wants to escape, but the hosts'. Emma doesn't know if she should be impressed or insulted. Her comments can break the most patient of people.

_'Why me?'_

The pleading in his eyes doesn't hide when he shrugs quietly. _'You're a very talented woman, with a great psychic mind. I believe you to be strong enough to help me from the outside.'_

She crosses her arms, as he takes steps closer. Emma wills her face to stay stoic as she weights her options. Why should she help this man?

As if reading her thoughts- it is Xavier – he replies, _'Because I know what you have been ordered to do. And I can help you stop it from ever happening.'_

* * *

><p>Emma awakes slowly, pushing herself off of the disgusting floor to a sitting position. She can feel the red marks of the floorboards beneath are marring her perfectly white skin. Angrily she stands, grabbing the statue that has come unhinged and yanks the door to the outside open. The darkened sky is starting to lighten and Emma swears loudly – she had so much left to do before her meeting. And the pounding headache is doing nothing for her frame of mind.<p>

Quickly she runs to the limo that miraculously hasn't left her and tells the driver the name of her hotel and instructs him to drive fast. Incredibly fast.

She pushes the conversation with Charles Xavier from her mind as the New York City skyscrapers catch her attention.

* * *

><p>Rogue stands in the middle of the gym pad stretching her tired muscles above her head. She wears only a pair of black yoga pants and a tight green tank top with a pair of light leather gloves. Her hair is twisted into a messy knot upon her head and she begins to gingerly stretch out her legs.<p>

The doors of the Danger Room open to her left loudly as Logan walks in; his cigar burning at the corner of his mouth. He isn't dressed much differently than she as he throws his towel by her discarded one. His eyes glint in humor at her ready look while he moves to put out his cigar into his palm before throwing that beside his own towel.

They had both agreed two nights ago to begin sparring sessions after seeing the rally in D.C. Whereas Bobby, or Kitty or Angel had powers that were offensive or could protect them during a battle, Rogues' weren't. In fact, in light of taking the Cure, her powers had become difficult and unpredictable; she didn't always absorb right away anymore. It made it trickier on her part – sometimes it would kick in right away, and then other times, a few seconds later than normal. It kept her constantly on her toes, unsure of how much she could touch someone – it was still something she had to learn to control.

Logan had argued those seconds could be the deciding factor in a fight. Not to mention this gave Rogue a chance to become actively involved in their battles. She didn't take to heart what he said – she had been thinking the same thing. She often felt like a burden in fights without an active power. Now with Logan teaching her how to properly fight, Rogue's self confidence about her position on the team and abilities was growing stronger.

She wants to help. Logan can see that, and hand to hand combat was better than staying safely tucked away in the corner. At least this would keep her in his view at all times in case she needed him. This would give her something to be proud of; Logan was the best teacher in hand to hand combat, after Scott's demise. With Rogue able as well, the team had a better chance of winning at close encounter fights.

With the mounting mobs, it would serve them well.

"Ready for this Rogue? I'm not gonna go easy on ya'."

Her chin rises in defiance and Logan can't help the pride that swells in him. "Ah wouldn't expect anything less."

He smiles once before he pounces and Rogue ducks to the side. White hair already begins falling into her eyes but Logan can see the light of alertness in them. She carefully rolls on to her side and stands, circling Logan intently. He smirks before attacking again.

* * *

><p>Storm is seated in her last class, the students slowly walking out the door. She can't help but laugh at the smiles the younger students flash to her before walking away. School is just about over, winter break coming up too fast for her to realize. Most of the students will be returning home to spend time with their families; some will remain with the adults and other students who do not have homes to return to. Lights have already been strung along the banisters and trees, menorahs or candles and the like have begun to sprout on to mantles of the mansion. It fills Storm with a soft glow of happiness – though it is dampened knowing this is the first season without her deceased friends.<p>

Slowly she stands and begins collecting papers from the floor. She does this just to keep her mind off of what this room really was; and who it was for. It was the Professor's classroom, and distantly she can hear his soft words educate on pass English writers or famous Irish poets. He had always made literature interesting even to most difficult of students.

She stops cleaning to glance out the window. She cannot see the tombstones from here, but she knows they're out there, a silent reminder to her and the X-Men. Something for them to cherish and to make proud. She is so caught up in her thoughts she doesn't hear Kurt approaching until his blue hand falls on her shoulder.

She jumps in fright. "Kurt! You scared me!"

He smiles bashfully, his tail swinging behind him. "Sorry, about that Ororo." He jerks his thumb toward the hidden television behind the wooden panel above the fireplace. "I think we might have another problem."

Curious, Storm lets him open the secret compartment, the flat screen appearing untouched. A fine line of dust runs across it and Storm fights away the blush of not having taken better care of it for the Professor. Kurt ignores this, and flips a few buttons on the bottom of the screen before the news broadcasting appears.

"Oh now what," Ororo sighs and Kurt stands by her side. He carefully wraps an arm around her shoulder in a comforting way as the images again change.

A news reporter is standing in front of the camera. Ororo recognizes the Smithsonian museum behind her. She reaches forward and turns the volume up. "Three nights ago the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, a treasure in downtown historical Washington D.C., was burglarized by what the security guards are claiming was a _mutant_."

The camera pans out and a young man with light brown hair and cloudy black eyes is rubbing his forehead. "It was the damnedest thing. The fields outside didn't go off, there wasn't a sound when he entered. The only tip we got that we had someone here was the security alarm in the Native American artifact region on display for the rest of this month, had gone off. It wailed for like, half a second and then cut out. We thought it might be a malfunction, but when we came down, the place looked as if a bomb went off. Everything was destroyed, except one statue taken after we took inventory. We tried catching the guy, but he just got away.

"Took out two cameras too," the guard pointed to the main entrance way. "Melted the lock right off the door to get out. Had to be a mutant. No one else could have done it."

The camera pans back to the main reporter as Ororo turns the TV off. Her eyes are narrowed and her mouth is set in a straight line. Kurt glances out the window and sees the bright blue sky begin to darken with gray clouds. He can feel her temper rising. Hastily he asks, "Ororo? Are you alright?"

She looks up as if having just noticed him. At her confusion, he points to the windows and automatically Ororo halts her mental tirade. "What happened? Do you know who is behind it?"

Storm looks over at Kurt and mournfully nods her head. Rubbing her temples tiredly, she smiles gratefully. "Unfortunately I do. I will call him to make absolutely sure that he is the one behind the break in."

She grips his arm in a tender touch, smiling softly at her blue friend. "Thank you Kurt. I'm glad you showed me this. Maybe we can head this off before more trouble comes of it."

The smile he returns is bright but hesitant. It was strange seeing Kurt scared to fully be himself around the students and staff. Storm watches him go, and can't help but call out to him. She knows he eats by himself at night, but maybe for one night he would like company? She can't let him hibernate alone – he was an X-Men now. He had a family now. "Kurt?"

He turns back, a small unknowing smile lifting his face. His tails whooshes lightly. Storm can't help but smile wider at his cute apprehension. "Why don't we eat together tonight? We've barely talked since your return."

Which is true in a sense, Storm reasons silently. After the fiasco at Alkali Lake, Kurt had ushered off to handle a problem he discovered. He hadn't wanted help in that – he had said it was a very personal event – and then with the events at Alcatraz, Storm had barely had time to call him. And when he had returned two months after the loss of their friends, both had been too wrapped up in grieving and working on the school to talk.

Instantly she feels bad for ignoring her friend and offers a small smile to Kurt when he looks away in thought. "C'mon. I'll make dinner tonight. We'll just talk and catch up."

At his shy smile and quiet nod, Storm claps her hands in glee. "Great. We'll eat at six. I just need to make a call and finish up some papers. Meet you in my garden alright?"

"_Ja_, can't wait Ororo." The smile is wider, and Storm lets her stomach kick in response. His kind, trusting nature was a welcomed change in her life.

He had once said to let go of the anger at others and forgive. As he exits, Storm glances at the window where the tombstones await to the television. She sighs, knowing that his advice then would keep her going in this fight with the world now. She couldn't be angry when the school had her to lead them, had her to guide them. Emotions would only lead to error – and anger was often worse than most.

Her eyes land on her purse on the far table top. Her eyes narrow. But that didn't mean she couldn't be angry with a certain, little sneaky thief she knew. "Goddess, please don't let it be Remy. And give me the strength when it _is_ him."

She picks up the phone, knowing her prayer will fall on deaf ears. In the pit of her stomach she knows it was him. Who else was that skillful to steal an artifact and never raise suspicion until he wanted it? Never leave a trace?

The phone begins to ring and she holds her breath.

* * *

><p>Remy shuffles around in his hotel room, looking for his pants from the past night. He can hear the noise of his ring tone going off, but can't seem to locate it. "Benny and the Jets" sounds loudly, making his already spinning head even more discombobulated. His ears are ringing by the time he falls face first into a pile of clothes, searching for the blasted contraption.<p>

Diving under his bed, he finds the worn in jeans, and hurries to snatch the phone before it goes to voicemail. Only two people have this number. It had to be important.

"'Allo?"

"You're dead, Gambit."

Remy rubs his head and glances to the setting sun. Had he pissed off another woman last night without remembering it? "Huh? Who this be?" His voice is cracking from just awaking from a long night. He peers at the empty bottle of liquor and feels his head jump in protest.

"Remy," the voice said again with a resigned air. He pulls the phone away to look at the caller ID. His eyes lighten up with a nervous dawning.

"Dammit." He swears softly. He can hear Stormy clicking her tongue over the phone in agitation.

"Hey Stormy, what's goin' on?" He tries lightly but he can feel the strength of her glare over the phone. His head lowers of its own accord. She and his _Taunte_ were the only ones to ever make Remy LeBeau cower.

"Don't you 'Stormy' me, Gambit. I saw the report."

"Damn, that got on real quick _non?_ I only did it like-"

"Three nights ago Remy."

"_Trois_, already? _Zut alors_."

"Remy," she says sternly. Remy feels his mouth tighten up as if beckoned to. Stormy knew exactly how to corral him when need be. He hates it.

"_Oui_ Stormy?"

"Why did you steal from the _Smithsonian_?" She stresses as Remy cringes from her tone. She is not happy with him. He sighs audibly.

"Got a job to take it. Real nice one too. Great pay. Just a small statue is all."

"Remy, I thought we talked about this."

He glares at the far wall, feeling the familiar _talk_ coming on. This was why he couldn't call Stormy more than a few times every few months. He hates being a disappointment to his oldest friend. She was more than a friend really, she was his sister. He bites the inside of his cheek and sighs while tousling his bed hair. Auburn locks fall into his red on black eyes.

"We did talk _ma soeur_. I just can't leave yet."

"Remy," her voice breaks off and Gambit feels like he's been kicked in the gut. He can see in his mind's eye her crescent fallen face, and the dimming in her deep brown eyes. His brother always said he'd be done in by the pretty ones. "I just want you to be safe. And with all these anti-mutant talks, I don't want to push what we have already. They're looking for something to hold against us. This could be it."

"_Oui_, Remy is safe. And Remy knows _chere_." He hears her muttered out a laugh and he perks up. An idea comes to him; one that doesn't really dawn on him until he says it. "Why don't I come for a visit hein? Haven't seen y'in a while. Might be a nice change of pace. I know y'running that special mutant school up there. I knows yah awfully proud of that."

He smacks himself as the words leave his fast talking mouth. She sniffles and Remy rubs the back of his neck nervously. The pretty ones always get him – and when they cry? It's worse. "Really? You mean that?"

"_Oui,"_ he can't lie to her. He doesn't want to go but he will. Because Storm needs to see him. He knows how she can be. He looks at the clock, the time nearing five in the afternoon. He could pack up and be there in a few hours time. Just had a few short runs to do before he left; he could get there in a bit after his latest job. "I'll start packing and be there soon. I'm in New York City. Not far yeah?"

A sigh of relief is heard on the other line and Remy feels like a ton of bricks has been lifted from his shoulders. He can hear the smile in Stormy's voice as she says, "Whenever you come, I'll be here. You know I just worry about you right? I want my little brother safe, always."

"_Ouai, ouai_ Stormy. I'm always safe. I be Gambit, 'member?"

She chuckles, tears completely vanished. Remy feels himself begin to smile into the receiver. He hasn't seen Stormy for a few years at the very least; he was actually looking forward to it now. "How could I forget? Drive safe, and I'll see you shortly."

"_D'ccord._ Take care Stormy."

"And Gambit, please do not call me _Stormy_ when you get here."

He smirks before hanging up. He wouldn't lie to Stormy, so he wouldn't promise something he knew he wouldn't be able to keep. Like calling her Stormy in front of her students. If anything he'd do it just for spite.

He tosses the phone on to the bed of rumpled sheets and looks at the mess of clothing lying around his hotel room. Wrinkling his nose, Remy rolls his eyes before heaving himself into action. He had a game plan now; shower, pack his clothes, final job, and see Stormy.

Glancing once more at the phone, he shakes his head. How he smoothed out his Weather Witch he hasn't a clue. Sometimes he impresses himself.

* * *

><p>AN: Let me know what you think! How do we feel about Storm and Gambit's relationship?<p>

_Peace_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**AN:** Thank you for such positive reviews! I appreciate those that are taking the time to read and not only that, but review! It's great! As for Storm and Gambit's relationship, it'll be developed more – those that liked it/ commented on it – thanks!

If there are questions, comments, please ask. I think sometimes I know what's going on in my head and I don't relay it well into my writing. If so, please tell me!

And now the plot slowly unravels… Enjoy!

"_Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose." – Kevin Arnold_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Emma stands outside the tall building, the wind whipping pass her with flurries falling on to her shoulders. She has stopped to change before coming here; though she had originally planned being here much earlier. She didn't want to appear as her alter ego – the White Queen – at this building. There are too many eyes to see that.

Instead she wears a pressed white suit with a powder blue corset top underneath. She is wrapped in her white fur coat and her boots are replaced with sensible white short heels. Feeling the object in her pocket, she makes her way into the skyscraper, the glass windows reflecting the bright fire ball behind her. She walks swiftly to the back elevators once she is inside.

She doesn't blink when the receptionist tries to stop her. She walks by innocently – she lets her mental powers make the woman think she never saw her. The elevator doors open, and Emma Frost steps in, her heels soft against the thick carpeting. She anxiously watches the numbers rise before she hits the correct floor – 52. The doors open, revealing another small office, with another brainless receptionist sitting behind a large metal and oak desk. When she glances up, Emma raises an eyebrow daring her to say something.

The young girl looks back down, ignoring the guest. Emma smiles devilishly, feeling her powers invade the weaker mind that make her nearly invisible as she skids by to the two large cherry doors. They are surrounded by two tall fake plants as decoration. She rolls her eyes at the stupid gesture of warmth and pushes the doors open, not waiting for an invitation.

Emma stares ahead to the man seated in the tall high back black executive chair. His dark hair is pulled tightly back into a short stub, with his large forehead gleaming under the fading sunlight. It's almost close to six, the almost correct time she was told to meet with him; Sebastian Shaw. The Black King.

She had wanted to be there earlier, in order to prove she's on her own schedule. It didn't work with the near kidnapping by the psychic who invaded her mind in the grimy warehouse earlier. She hadn't planned for that. She would not make a mistake like that again.

His unfailing eyes regard her for a moment before he waves her in merrily. Emma takes in his deep red button down shirt and black business suit – powerful and tailored to his sculpted body perfectly. He points to the chair but she doesn't sit. She doesn't trust this man – and she doesn't like him one bit. She must prove she is her own woman, no matter how insignificant it appears to him.

"So you have the statue?"

She drops it on to the desk, watching the pencils and pens tumble to the ground from the hit. His dark eyes are on fire with interest. "Wasn't too hard. Had to find the right person to steal it."

"I saw the report." He looks at her carefully, indicating the coverage on the news report that aired all day. She knows the one he was referring to. She had watched the recap while she changed and tried to fight off the headache Xavier left her with. "Are you sure he doesn't know who you are, or our involvement?"

"I'm sure," she replies coolly. Her temper is flaring as he questions her intelligence, though she hides the emotion. Emotions are nothing but trouble. "He didn't even know my name Sebastian. We're safe."

"Excellent," he beams and stands to touch the little man. His smile grows sinister and proud. "You've done well my White Queen. Now we'll be able to continue with our plans as scheduled."

Emma crosses her arms, cocking a hip as if her interest has left her. On the contrary, her eyes never leave the man or the statue in his large hands. "When do we start my _king_?" she spits, her displeasure with the title apparent.

"The full moon." He says distractedly. He glances up at her. "Saturday. Three days time. We'll be able to stop this Registration Act long before it goes to Congress."

"And what of the new candidate for presidency?" He doesn't catch the feeling in her voice. Emma would never admit to it, but she's frightened. With the act looming over them, and a new supporter drawing closer to the White House, it puts all mutants into a greater threat. "Mutants will rise against the act and the candidate. They'll be riots all over the nation. They will be hurt, possibly killed. Are you sure this will help our side?"

The smile is wickedly evil and tempting in its power. Emma shakes herself to keep from quaking in fear. "This will put us ahead of those humans who wish to hunt us down. With the events of Alcatraz still in their minds, and anti-mutant feelings at the forefront, we have to defend ourselves."

"And possibly gain the advantage of world domination in the process correct Shaw?"

He shrugs as if it is a moot point. She knows him. He is only doing this is gain control of the nation. His new toy and new weapon will hand it over to him, arm and leg. "_She_ will make sure we survive this test."

"And the X-Men?" It didn't escape her that the team that led a mutant school in Upstate New York didn't cross Shaw's mind. They were after all the deciding factor in the attack on Alcatraz. They were the ones who wanted a peaceful coexistence, not Shaw. He wanted control, domination, tyranny. He wanted chaos under his rule. He didn't care if mutants were treated as equals in the world, so long as he was the one in power. She peers at him curiously waiting for his response.

"They won't trouble us."

"And what makes you so sure?" She's snide but she doubts his intelligence. The X-Men live to meddle with the events in the world. They were always the do-gooders.

He steps around his desk, his grip catching her upper arm. She is slender to his massive frame and a feeling of panic rises in her chest. Though her powers are strong, he is quicker and more powerful than her physically - before she can shift; he could snap her arm if he so thought it. But her face remains emotionless. She knows he won't try to kill her – not yet. Not until at least after the ceremony. He needs her, just like he needs _Her_.

"We'll have something of theirs' they won't want to fight with. Not again anyhow." He smirks down at her as he almost adoringly rubs his mark from her skin that is concealed by her coat. "We're not the only ones thinking of Alcatraz, my queen. They are still grieving, weakened by their losses. We have an advantage."

She steps away and narrows her eyes on Sebastian Shaw, her ruling king of the Hellfire Club. If she didn't need his existence, she would have ended him years ago. Her anger flares, making her blue eyes dance in the darkened room. "And you think you can control _Her_? Magneto failed and look where he is."

"He is an old man. He saw only one thing – I see many options." He walks back to his desk, dropping the statue by the corner of his desk with reverence. He begins to dial a number on his phone. "The Inner Circle will be very happy with what you've accomplished. Once Saturday comes, your place within our ranks is sealed."

Emma rolls her eyes. If that wasn't a dismissal, she didn't know what was. Bowing her head, she turns away from the Black King and begins her long trek back to her hotel suite at the Hilton. But at the back of her mind, she can't help remembering what Charles Xavier said to her. Did she want to trust him or _Shaw?_

* * *

><p>Rogue pads softly into the kitchen, her damp brown and white hair hanging around her heart shaped face. She was sore, her muscles straining under her black camisole and long grey sweatpants. Her feet are barefoot and her long black gloves go up pass her mid arms providing more coverage. She feels safe enough, it being very late and the school deserted of most of its population; it didn't escape her notice that many students had packed up for the break that day.<p>

She searches out the lights, turning them on as she looks around for something to eat. Rogue had missed dinner with the remaining students and staff; she favored working on control with Beast who had happily agreed to help her. She is mentally and physically drained with the running images of Hank bombarding her mental shields. She can feel the urge to run under the waxing moon, the same as he feels every month; but she decides instead to grab a small pint of ice cream to soothe the rumble in her belly.

Not to mention to eat something totally unhealthy to replenish the calories lost training with Logan in their latest sparring session.

The kitchen fridge doors open as she rubs her shoulder tiredly. He had attacked when she had been down. Though it hurts now, she knows tomorrow she'll be ready for more of his dirtier moves. He wants her sharp, suspecting all possible moves – including honorable and street dirty. She can't help but grin as she reaches the ice cream, knowing Logan is only teaching her everything at once so that she'll be ready for whatever is in store.

With the threat of the Registration Act very near, and another candidate willing to enact it, Rogue can't help but feel uneasy. She knows this means a bigger battle is coming. She knows it could be like their last battle, mutants against mutants for world peace. Or it can be like the earlier one – mutants fighting for their right to live against the world. Rogue takes out a spoon and pushes the disturbing thoughts away; she digs into the Double Chocolate Chip with an exaggerated sigh.

Something was coming. But she trusted that the X-Men could handle it.

And now that she could help, she knew they'd come out the victors.

* * *

><p>The low riding chopper revved forward in the late night hours of the wooded forest of Upstate New York. The blood colored paint dancing with swirling gold and silver loops, glints under the quickly passing street lamps. The rider, who some would call a man with a death wish, smiles under the helmet top and speeds forward, the limit having been passed long ago. His body is humming along with the engine, the purr vibrating in his chest. He would have it no other way.<p>

He leans with the bike into the tight turn, feeling the gravel kick up into his face and curves back along the winy path on the other side. His excitement and adrenaline pump harder as a tall mansion appears in front of him. Nervousness racks him momentarily at what this meeting might bring. Gambit hasn't seen Storm in a very long time; not since his run from _N'awlins _and their brief stint together. And he isn't very sure about being around so many mutants when the world is looking for them. It makes security and safety hard. And Gambit worries more about safety than most.

Golden gates shadowed in darkness greet him at the edge of the property. He raises one eyebrow in question, more in curiousness than annoyance. The bike stops at the wide bars and he sighs comically.

Does he dare break into the home? He cringes as he thinks of Stormy's reaction. He knows he would be fried to death if he did. Silently, he takes out a few of his tools from the trench coat he favors and turns to the radio box with the large speaker and teleconference screen. He clips one purple wire, and then a yellow one before he hears the gears grinding of their own accord. He places the two wires together and the gates open, dragging across the black cement.

He sits back watching them move and laughs wolfishly. He mentally pats himself on his back as he restarts the engine, gliding into the mansion grounds as the two golden gates clang shut behind him. This really doesn't count as breaking in does it?

Remy arrives to the front door smoothly enough, the security either not on or too easy to bypass before he kills the engine. He listens intently – only a few sharp laughs are heard distantly and the ruffling of the grass blades calls back to him. There isn't much snow on the grounds now that winter is beginning and he knows it has to do with Stormy. He never did like how the North never had a true season of fall - just a small repreieve before a snow storm.

'_Odd,'_ he thinks as he stands, dragging his bag with him. It's too quiet for it being a school.

His back protests under the strain of movement. Wincing, Remy drops the bag and stretches, feeling the knots and old wounds of his earlier job attack him. He can't help but smirk in remembrance; bank heists were never easy when he didn't lead. Taking deep breaths he slowly grabs the bag again, walking up the long path to the front door. He sees a light on underneath but for the most part the house is dark.

It gives him the creeps but he knocks anyway. It is unnatural for a school of young adults to be so dead to the world. Especially when the house is full of mutants, with high hormones running through their veins. He lets a few minutes slip by before he knocks again, and then rings the doorbell. The door knob turns with a very distinct squeal minutes later and a very feminine hand pulls the door open carefully.

* * *

><p>Ororo is sitting on the couch; a favorite book of Jean's sitting on her elegant lap. Her long cream colored nightgown with white lace is covered by a lush black robe though her feet are barefoot. Her night with Kurt had just ended, their talk lasting well into the late hours. She turns a page, fondly remembering his concern when she described her battle on the prison island. And remembers her spilled tears when she told him how Jean, her closest and dearest friend, died in front of her eyes.<p>

"_She died, in order to save us. In order to save what she could of this world and stop the battle. I'm not sure what Logan goes through, but I don't think I am strong enough to help him battle that darkness. And I know the only comfort he finds in his actions, was the knowledge he helped her save _us_."_

Storm lets the sadness of her friends death wash over her for a brief moment; and then she puts it away in the dark recesses of her heart. She doesn't like the grieving process of losing her friends, but as Kurt pointed out to her, it was necessary. In order to remember them, she would have to feel for them. Again she smiles softly as he quoted a passage in the Bible in which had him almost glowing with pride. She could feel his devotion in his words, and in the tattoos that covered his body.

And of course Storm reminded him she was not Catholic. But that didn't stop him from smiling and saying, _"Every faith has words to live by. I hope yours' does as well, along with words to comfort you when you feel you are most alone."_

She reads another page, hearing clattering in the kitchen as someone rifles around for something to eat. It wasn't too hard to guess who it was – the remaining younger children were already asleep and she knew the older ones had eaten together. Under normal circumstances she wouldn't have even heard the noise – but the mansion is strangely silent.

'_Rogue.'_ She smiles again as a soft southern voice swears in the hallway, grumbling under her breath. She was right.

Then she hears it. A soft grinding noise and a bright red light blinks over the mantle. It was the first step to a security breach. She stands, her heart thumping madly, the events of Stryker's replaying in her mind. She almost reaches out to the secret hiding place of the communicator in the wall to raise the rest of the team before a knock sounds at the main door.

Startled she stands there. Does she open it? Another knock, and then the doorbell rings loudly to her hyper sensitive ears. Moving without thought, she walks to the door, catching a glimpse of Rogue in the hall. The bowl of ice cream is trapped in her small gloved hands and her eyes are wide with concern, but edging, listening like Ororo; she's thinking the same thing as she. An attack? This late? But would they knock to enter first?

She tediously opens the door. She has to know. She has to know if it was friend or foe...

And her lungs gulp down air as she shockingly sees a very familiar face smiling back. Heart beating wildly, she throws her arms around Remy into a tight bear hug, the corners of her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She's never been so happy in her life that it's Gambit at the door and not some other threat to her school.

She briefly flashes to the events of Stryker and hugs the man tighter. He squeaks in objection.

"Y'miss me _chere_?" He laughs heartedly and struggles to pull Ororo away. When she doesn't move so quickly, he steps forward with her clinging at his shoulders, shutting the door with his right foot and drops the bag soundly on to the marble floor.

Finally after a few more minutes, Ororo pulls back. Her hands hold him at an arm's length as she beams up at him, secretly scanning for injuries. He still has a few good inches on her; she has to tilt her head if she wants to address him properly. And it frustrates her to new heights when he wears his sunglasses inside and at night. "It's good to see you little brother."

"And y'too, _ma soeur_." He lets his eyes hover along the mansion foyer walls, the expensive paintings and vases catching his thieving eyes. He then lets his eyes roam over Ororo with a wicked grin. "Not a bad place Stormy. And y'look pretty good too."

She scoffs while he darts away; subconsciously she pulls her robe tighter together. He goes to a distant painting of a flowering field, whistling in appreciation. Ororo follows but crosses her arms, waiting for something to happen. "Do not get any ideas Gambit. We do not let people steal from the school."

Guiltily he grins at her over his shoulder. "'m sorry." He mumbles though he looks quite opposite of his words. The painting had to be worth more than his bike outside – not an easy feat.

"You came rather late," she says nonchalantly. It doesn't go pass her notice or his that he doesn't look at her when he shrugs her concern away. She notices the small tension in his shoulders. "You should have called before you came, Remy. I was very worried you weren't going to make it."

"Had one last job to do before I headed up here, Stormy." He glances back and lets his glasses fall just enough for his demonic eyes to capture her brown orbs. His are darkened with serious. "Loose ties and all that."

She nods but a weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She isn't fond of his stealing ways, but she understands; he didn't want to track his troubles to the school and risk them in his business. Of that Storm is highly grateful to her friend.

"Well," her smile is bright if not hesitant. "You must be exhausted. I have a room made up for your stay."

His hands wave out right away at her words. Her frown does nothing to Remy as he says, "_Non, non._ I'm staying at a small inn right inside the main center. Already made a reservation and all that." He's lying. He never makes reservations. He's too much of a free spirit to know where he'll end up after his day is complete. Storm knows this and when her hands find her hips, he knows he isn't going to win this fight.

"Nonsense. I will not let a guest of mine, and a good friend, stay at an inn instead of my home. You'll be staying with us Gambit." He winces as if slapped by her tongue. She means business with that tone of voice.

Nodding tiredly, Remy pouts. He sees the small smile play at Ororo's soft features and knows he really isn't in trouble. She's only worried for his safety. Of course, Remy probably worries about himself more than Stormy, but he doesn't tell her that. She needs him nearby – she needs to have him around if not for his safety but hers'. After what he saw from the news a few months back, he could tell she was still feeling the loss of the battle of Alcatraz.

In fact - he walks closer and grips her in a tight hug knowing with a sixth sense this is what he's supposed to do – she never confided in him the events nor her feelings. He only knew the school was left to her and some of her colleagues were now deceased; and she had been there for two of them. She grabs him firmly as if afraid he isn't real as she shakes out weary tears and Gambit like the great friend he is, lets her use his silk blue button down dress shirt as a handkerchief. He could see the way Ororo held herself to keep the pain inside. He knew what that kind of grief could do to someone if they didn't express it.

He knows very well.

He knows Storm is the kind of person who hated to lose people. It cuts her deeper than most; and by him staying, by being within reaching distance in case she needs reassurance, or if he does, he is putting some worry from her mind. She is the eternal mothering figure, and with the only family left around her, it calms her. It's the only thing Gambit can do for her now.

"I never asked how you were holdin' up _ma soeur_." He rubs her head soothingly. She nods absently. "Y'alright? Wanna talk about it?"

She looks up, her brown eyes watery but her face a picture of calm. He's always amazed at how composed his Weather Witch is. He almost wishes he could have her control; his emotions could always get to him. "I will be. It's just hard to adjust, even after all this time."

"An' it's not like y'haven't had time to mourn wit' running the school and conferences on mutant rights." She looks away shyly but he chucks her chin playfully. "Don't act like you didn't like it. Y'always could fight for the weaker ones. I've watched the coverage a time or two. Y'get your point across just fine."

"Yes, well now, I am fighting for _my_ students' not just mutant kind. It's personal for me." She steps away and he can read in her eyes the gratitude of his hug. Before his eyes Ororo pulls herself together and her eyes dry. "And for _our_ place in this world. Remy, I know what you do, is what you do." She makes a vague hand gesture and he laughs shortly at it. There was a time she wasn't so hesitant to talk about his career choice. She had been a thief at one time. "But we all have to be careful now. Mutants are being hunted, whether openly or not. We can't afford anymore bad exposure. And I can't afford to lose you to it."

'_Ah, that was the reason for the phone call,'_ he thinks smartly. Storm isn't just worried about his career choices, but her duties as an X-Men and field leader, as a Head Mistress and fellow mutant - not to mention a sibling that could lose the only family she has left. Gently taking her hand, he squeezes it in reassurance. "Don' worry so much Stormy. Y'get wrinkles, and you're not even that old yet. I mean you're old but still."

She goes to smack him but Remy's eyes dart toward another figure walking closer to him. She gets in one good smack before the resident Weather Witch turns to the newcomer. Her eyes are dancing in laughter and kindly she gestures toward the young woman to join them with an outstretched hand. "Rogue, please come meet my friend."

Remy's eyes don't leave the young woman's frame as she nervously walks forward. He takes in the long gloves, the white streaks in her brown hair to the bare feet poking out from under heavy grey sweatpants two times the size they should be on her. He notices the melted bowl of ice cream in her tight grasp. But what captures him are her ruby red rosebud lips and her dark green emerald eyes; almost black in the shadowed foyer, hidden behind thick eyelashes.

Subconsciously, Remy licks his bottom lip. She looks as good as sin.

Suddenly a gloved hand is in front of him, and he looks at it strangely before the woman speaks. "Hi, Ah'm Rogue." He catches the slight accent of the south and a grin breaks across his face. Tightly he takes her hand in his.

"My name is Remy LeBeau."

And just as quickly she drops his hand, and steps away as if she afraid of his touch. Her eyes are wide, mouth parted. Storm is there in a split second, a hand comfortingly on her clothed back. "Rogue, what's wrong? What happened?"

The girl's eyes are clouded and he notices the bowl of ice cream on the marble floor. It makes a mess but both are worried for the young woman as she shakes her head as if in pain. Her mouth is screwed shut now and her eyes roll back into her skull. She looks as if she's trapped in a horror flick but she doesn't scream.

"_Femme_, y'alright? I didn't hurt did I?" He knows he didn't, but he could never tell for sure. Being in a school for mutants, he didn't know what to expect. Ororo rubs her back as she tries to calm the girl down.

Rogue jumps when he steps forward, a sixth sense knowing exactly where he is and the cloudiness of her orbs dissipates. He holds up his hands in a friendly gesture of peace. "I won't go no farther than y'want me to, _d'ccord_?"

"Rogue, tell us what went wrong. Did something happen? Did you see something?" Ororo knows of the bursts of memories that have been slipping back to Rogue. They come in wisps of knowledge, and sometimes take Rogue under when her shield is not erect. It was a side effect of taking the Cure and the subsequent return of her mutant gifts.

Ororo always knew Rogue would have a difficult journey in life but was it so hard to let the girl have peace? She never agreed with taking a Cure – because there was nothing _wrong_ with them – but Rogue was different. Ororo didn't know what it was like having voices in her head, or not to have the ability to simply hug another person. Rogue did. And the Cure had given her peace for a time. But now that it was back and the memories assaulted her at times in which she couldn't predict, or the random abilities absorbed would return in which she couldn't control them; there was a time Rogue had frozen the whole driveway, and them phased half way through the cement. She had become stuck and the team had to work together to release her.

It seemed unfair to Ororo for the girl to have a life so full of obstacles, just to be given reprieve and then turned around and given something so much harder. Would she ever have peace?

But she knew Rogue did not see it that way. She saw it as a chance to work toward control; that is was possible in the end. Ororo just didn't think it was fair to the younger woman who needed some happiness in her life. She would never agree with the Cure, but she didn't object with Rogue's reasoning behind it.

Startled, the girl shakes her head. Her cheeks flush prettily as absently she rubs her arms as if to ward off the cold. Strangely, Remy can feel the room temperature is adequate and knows nothing has changed. Doesn't mean she didn't have a chill up her spine. She was as white as snow.

"Yeah, sorry." She mumbles and looks funnily at Remy. He raises an eyebrow in question. "I just… ya looked familiar." And then she holds her head again while shaking thoughts around in her pretty head. "I need t'see Logan. Welcome to the Institute," she departs quickly, running up the large staircase behind Remy.

She's quick to move as Ororo bends to pick up the dropped food. "She always that skittish?"

"No, not normally." Her voice is worried and intrigued. But her grasp is tight and that tells Remy Storm is uncertain about Rogue's behavior. Something she did concerns Storm and he knows it's important enough to file away to look at later. Whatever the girl does for a power was evident then. When she looks at him though, her mouth is flirting with a smile as she pushes her thoughts away. "Don't try anything Gambit."

"What? I didn't do anyt'ing wrong," he tries to pout but Ororo waggles her finger knowingly. It's useless to try and hide from her. Stormy knew him too well; there was a downside of being near people who actually knew you. And they could tell when you saw something you liked.

"No, not yet you didn't." She glances up the vacant stairs with a small expression on her face that he couldn't place. Pity, sympathy? "Rogue is special. Just remember that."

Just as suddenly her control is back and her face is composed once more. Hurriedly she grabs his bag, and ushers him forward. There is excitement and energy pouring off of her that makes it hard for Remy not to smile. "Come now. We'll unpack you and talk about what you've been up to little brother. C'mon," she pushes him up the stairs to move faster. He laughs harder as he runs from her.

Maybe he didn't feel exactly safe being in a school full of mutants – he knew Stormy was right when she said they all were under close watch – almost like being on Oprah with a red dot over the house – but it felt good being near Ororo again. It's been awhile since he saw a familiar and friendly face that didn't want him dead.

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><p>The rapping is loud, brisk against his door. He glances at the alarm clock, the red blurry numbers saying just past one in the morning. It wasn't like he was heavily asleep; Logan doesn't sleep soundly anymore. He's haunted by past memories he can't explain and recent ones he doesn't want to remember. And her haunted look and her pleas are all he hears in the middle of the night.<p>

"_Kill me." _It's a stab in the heart and Logan clearly feels the urge for a few shots of tequila. He wishes his healing ability would let him get drunk enough to forget. Just enough to where her face isn't what he sees in his dreams or when he awakes. Just once.

Slowly he grumbles as the covers are tossed from his legs when the knocking persists. He strides to the door, the knocks harder and more frantic. The door swings open and Rogue is standing there, her face haunted and lined in worry. A sheer line of sweat is on her brow and her lips tremble in fear. He can smell it mask her.

"Rogue, ya okay?"

She shakes her head, tugging at her long strands. She rubs her hands as if afraid to reach out to him. "Logan, I need help. I can't make it stop." She points to her head and slowly realization dawns on him. Her eyes are glossy and the pain behind them hits him head on.

Guilt crashes into him but he can't stop from ushering her into his large arms, holding her carefully as he tries to will the memories away. He forgot his thoughts still haunt her. That all her pass absorptions and their abilities and memories haunt her. That they will never leave her now that her powers are back and the Cure only held them and the thoughts back for so long.

He looks down at her. What had triggered it this late? Did she have another dreams? A repressed memory, taking her when her guard was down, and slumbered next to him?

"Calm down kid," he mumbles into her hair. He can smell the fresh scent of soap and sweet pea and rustic evergreen in her locks from her nightly shower. "Just breathe. Make the images go away. Do what Hank taught ya'."

Rogue closes her eyes severely and tries to forcefully push the pictures into the back of her mind. She sees littered buildings, a deserted alleyway. She sees a young woman with dark hair and beautifully dark eyes staring at her in death. She can hear the Cajun accent, younger and determined as he tugs her arm toward a plane.

Slowly she exhales. The pictures dissipate as one by agonizing one they are locked away in a tight box; the seal is an ancient lock that only she has the key to. What feels like seconds to her, is literally a dozen minutes later when she opens her eyes to stare at Logan.

His dark eyes search her face. She can see the way his eyes crinkle in worry and a thin line appears on his forehead. "Better?"

"Yeah." She sighs and the mental images are gone. Her mind feels less constricted, less crowded. It's pure bliss and she lets it settle in. Her shoulders fall.

"What happened?" And unlike his caring voice before, now it is hard and stern. He doesn't want her to hurt again because of him, but he wants the truth. She won't be able to brush this off. And he wants to make sure it'll never happen again. She knows Logan; she knows his protective side.

"'Ro has a friend here," she begins and pulls away. She is uncomfortable hugging him while they both aren't properly covered. She adjusts her long gloves subconsciously. "His accent, it was like a flash of somethin'. Somethin' from you." She waves into the air, magically thinking the exact words will come to her. But they don't. Frustrated, she looks at her mentor and shrugs. "Ah can't explain it. Just a flash and Ah was in this place – searching for somethin' and there were so many different people..."

The pictures are brief again, trying to recall what she saw. But she can't focus. It was like waking from a bad dream. It made her shoulders slump in defeat.

"Ororo has a friend here?" He's amused. When did Storm ever bring someone over this late? "And here I thought her and the elf were getting it on."

"Don't be crass," she slaps him gently. They can feel the tension leaving though the worry line in Logan's face doesn't fade. She tries to smile. "They seem close."

"I'll bet." Rogue puts her hands on her hips and Logan gruffly laughs. "Alright, I'll drop it. But are ya okay now Rogue? What triggered it? Tell me."

Rolling her eyes, she crosses her arms. "Ah'm fine now Logan." She glances to her right as if trying to remember something. "It was odd is all? It was almost like ya' knew the guy or something. But …" she shrugs again uncertainly. She worries her bottom lip in thought. "But it's like ya' don't? Does this make any sense to you?"

"Not at all." Sourly he rubs his head. "Doesn't make sense at all. Sure it was from me, and maybe not Magneto?"

Her green eyes wobble but she remains strong. She isn't overly fond of the mutant terrorist, and she has every right to be. He was the reason she almost died a few years back. He was the reason for Jean's death and indirectly the Professor and Scott's. He was the reason mutants were being hated so openly; because he had started a war he couldn't handle or finish.

No, the man was not exactly her favorite person in the world. But his memories were different than Logan's. His were gritty, overpowered by emotion and hatred. Logan's were more subdued – images that would suck her in and she would be confused, seeing things as he had at the time. It probably had to do with his amnesia of his past.*

These memories were most definitely his'. Just as confusing, just as unclear within her mind.

"No, Ah can tell." She sticks out her chin. "They're yours'. Just can't piece it together the right way."

Logan nods and something akin to hope blooms in his chest. With her sorting out his memories, would this make him remember too? Or maybe she can help him recall them?

He shakes his head, fighting off a small yawn. He's selfish for thinking that. Rogue was under more stress than most students with controlling her reemerging powers and the wisps of memories and voices back into her head – he shouldn't be hoping for more breakthroughs. Instead, he should be having them, willing his mind to work with him to remember; not a kid.

But he still can't stop a small bud of hope rise in his throat. He wants to remember. He wants to know what he did in his past. He wants to know if he was a hero, or a villain; or an animal like Stryker called him. Inside he knows there might be truth behind it, but he won't believe it until he relives his memories for himself. Without Stryker to confirm, and others to help him, he has to rely on his faulty memory. He glances at Rogue as she adjusts her gloves again.

Maybe the kid could help – but he won't push her. He feels guilty enough knowing his demons are haunting Rogue; he doesn't want to put anything else on her.

"Well it's late kid," it's lame and they both can see that. He glares as she smiles. "You need to sleep. We'll talk more about this in the morning."

"And maybe you'll meet Storm's friend?" She taunts as she saunters away, seeing his grin before he can force it away. They depart and Logan heads back to his bed, the night sky letting in a small sliver of moon. He lies down, a part of him happy and the other torn. Memories can lead to trouble or they can bring relief.

He glances out the window to the moon, his eyes glaze over and he can almost see a burst of red in the light. He sighs and closes his eyes against a rack of pain deep in his chest. "Jean…" he whispers and turns over, away from the moon. He doesn't need to remember. He can't remember, not now. He isn't ready, yet.

He could really use that tequila now.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> The first meeting of Gambit and Rogue! How's Emma? I was never much of a fan of hers' but her character has been growing on me since writing this – and I like it. Does Logan and Rogue's relationship do justice to the movie? (I always loved their relationship – though I didn't _ship_ it, even in the comic/ cartoons they always had a certain understanding; they were both on the same side, fighting inner demons, and I believe more compassionate than most people, because they knew what darkness there could be in the world. And even if he never expressed he was her father in the film ((he actually he said he wasn't)), he was still family, and I loved that bond.)

***:** I put this in here for a few reasons. In the comics/ old animated series, Rogue absorped Scott's powers and couldn't control it - like she had sucked in his ability and his head trauma preventing her to control it too. In the Evo verizon, she can control it, meaning she only takes memories, personalities, powers etc., but nothing physical that wasn't there at birth; giving her control, when Scott doesn't. Scott wasn't hurt until after he was born, in his family's plan crash.

What am I talking about? where's my logic? For example, it'd be like her absorping a mortal with tattoos - she's taking his thoughts, emotions, memories but not going to take on the tattoos because they were added to the body after birth. I thought for the movie, she'd be much more like the Rogue in the Cartoon/ Comics and take on the full charateristic of the party touched. Hence the amensia Logan developed, she would too, in a sense, and therefore would have as much insight into his memories as him. This whole idea becomes a catalyst for their journey to understanding Logan's past. Trust me, you'll see.

Tell me what you think!

Peace


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thank you everyone for their amazing comments/ reviews – and the many author/ story alerts! I'm glad everyone likes this so far. Trust me, this plot still has a lot to go – let me know if anyone is confused, or has questions.

Thank you!

Enjoy!

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><p>"<em>The family is a haven in a heartless world." ~Attributed to Christopher Lasch<em>

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

The next morning, the school is buzzing with talks of their late night guest and of joyful conversations of the last students returning home now that break has started. Rogue can feel her ears ringing as the girls' gossip and the guys ask suspicious questions about the former; and the squeals of excitement over the latter. Her head feels as if a jackhammer is breaking a hole through her skull – she can't concentrate as she walks into the kitchen during the most intensive moments of the conversations and the high pitch calls of laughter.

She cracks open one eye, the light blinding her as her gloved fingers rub her sore temples. Her night wasn't the best she's had. The images that were Logan's memories had attacked her as she slept. At least, she thought it was. She strangely remembers the Revolutionary War – which may or may not have something to do with her American History class.

Groaning she fumbles further into the room when a sturdy hand grabs her forearm. She glances left then up at Piotr who pleasantly smiles down at her. She's relieved when he hands her a cup of strong coffee – she was the only one besides Logan and Piotr who could stomach the stuff (which she attributes to Logan's first absorption) and follows Piotr to the back table by the windows.

It isn't nearly as crowded as it could be given how many students they have enrolled, but the noise sounds the same to Rogue. Bobby and Kitty smile in a friendly manner as she comes closer, their arms locked together simply enough. But it digs at Rogue the wrong way. Maybe she's too sensitive today, from the lack of sleep, the aggression from Logan's psyche or the plain frustration at having no control to stop the images that bombarded her last night; but seeing their bare arms meshing together and Kitty's at ease features has Rogue in a bad mood. A mood that begins to seep into her hands as the grip on the mug tightens, the warmth muted through her leather gloves.

If she had enhanced strength, it would have been shattered into pieces.

But it is just another reminder of her circumstances, the leather gloves, holding back heat that should be scalding her. Another reminder of control she didn't have. It was all too much sometimes.

A heavy hand lands on the small of her back and directs her to the chair in the corner as Piotr sits next to her. He knows she prefers to have her back to a wall - this she knows is not from Logan but her own insecurities. Over the last few months they've grown closer; having to do with their Danger Room sessions and possibly his crush Kitty becoming Rogue's ex-boyfriends' girlfriend. She being paired with Colossus wasn't such a terrible thing either – his armor came in handy more than once in their pseudo battles. And he had confided in her his interest of the petite girl that sat directly in front of them.

And with her powers seemingly at more manageable levels, she could feel her teammates not as afraid as before. Their hesitation is seemingly gone – transferred to a strange trust . Whether it is from seeing her clothed as much as before the Cure, or because she now fights with them (and stubbornly will tackle anything in Danger Room sessions even without an offensive power), she isn't sure.

But it's another hit to her self-confidence – in herself, in her teammates, and her place within their ranks. They shouldn't have to learn to trust her – learn to trust her ability to control her powers, learn to keep her distance from them. They should just trust her - everything about her. They should just be at ease with her, like her friends and teammates were with everyone else.

She thought she had gotten over the hurt from having horrific powers. But she hasn't. She's learned to deal with it but she _hasn't._ She's grateful that her teammates are more trusting toward her now, trusting in the Danger Room or on missions for recruits, but she can still see their hesitation if they should not touch her the right way; through fabric or another barrier. They trust but they don't and it pains Rogue. It hurts on a deeper level – yet Rogue tries to ignore it. She doesn't want to feel sorry for herself anymore. In fact, she feels just plain aggravated at the whole situation; and at her situation in particular.

She is an X-Man. She's proved herself. She took the Cure and her powers won out over it. Her powers were at lower levels – and as 'Ro pointed out, not nearly as off set as before – and therefore not nearly as dangerous (she ignores the fact that it does put her in more extreme danger if her powers don't react right away, to which she becomes defenseless). And she was learning control. Her friends didn't have anything to fear from her.

Sometimes she was glad Piotr had learned not to be afraid – but there were times she wished, he and others didn't have to _learn_ to not be _afraid_. They should just _not_ be.

Yet again, Rogue cannot blame them. It was a twisted world she lived in; and it was her cross to bear, as Kurt would say. People would always be afraid of what they didn't understand, and Rogue would always be left wanting more.

Rogue draws out of herself enough to sip from the coffee, pure black because she knows Logan's influence makes her drink it that way, and watches the flurry around her. She gives Piotr a nudge as he sits down; he doesn't wince, which is a step up from how they normally react from her touch. But Piotr has always understood more than most and from their sessions together, he knows she would not hurt him if it could be helped. It makes her heart warm if only a little, depression from her earlier train of thought lightening. "What's the chaos 'bout? Shouldn't everyone be relaxin' since it's break now?"

He scans the room once as Bobby and Kitty whisper something between them. Bobby kisses Kitty's forehead and again Rogue's bad mood worsens. It wasn't from seeing her ex and his new flame, but from the simple touches they seem to need to do in front of her. It's another dig, one that she can't ignore readily. She can feel her stomach turn sour, but she gulps down another sip of coffee. Internally she sighs with a hint of relief.

"Some are leaving today for the week. Others are trying to catch this friend of Storm's."

"Storm's friend?" She asks mind confused. She doesn't understand until Piotr shrugs while sipping from his own mug of coffee. He used a bit of cream in his.

"Came in late last night. A few students heard them talking until four in the morning. Some say later than that."

"Ororo has a friend here?" Kitty asks, just now coming into the conversation. Rogue hides back a snide comment about listening and drowns her mouth in more coffee. It's not Kitty's fault for her mood, or was it? Rogue couldn't remember why she was so angry any more. "What does he look like?"

"Tall, sunglasses, older. Like 'Ro's age or maybe a few years younger," Rogue ticks off her fingers quietly. "From the south. Ah heard a Cajun accent slightly there."

Kitty's brown eyes widen with shock. "You've met him?"

A tidal wave of understanding crashes into her as she now gets Kitty was asking everyone in general; not Rogue. She knew not sleeping well would affect her. Her face becomes slightly pink as she waves it away. "Ran into 'em last night. He's kinda shifty." She won't go into detail of how his smile was charming and his body absolutely perfect.

But it wasn't like she could really tell under the trench coat. He hid away from view. Nor how she wanted to look under his sunglasses to see why he hid his eyes at night and inside a dimly lit mansion. Nor how his voice was a deep, silky baritone that made chills go up her spine when he introduced himself.

Or how she freaked out in front of him. Her blush heats up and she can't help but bite her lip in annoyance at herself. She was not going to live that down any time soon.

"Shifty?" Bobby asks and looks at her curiously. She can see his blue eyes twinkle in laughter and his lip quirks into a small smile. "Why would Storm have a friend like that?"

"Dunno," Rogue responds and promptly tunes out of the conversation. It only takes a few moments for the kitchen to clear out as honking sounds erupt from outside the front doors. Minivans, cars and trucks line up to gather the remaining students to their holiday cheer. They would be gone until the New Year and the mansion would be quiet until then. Rogue rolls her eyes, standing to gather more coffee.

She sees mistletoe hanging above the entrance way, holly and lights strung along the top of the cabinets, blinking merrily at her. Her bad mood goes from bad, to worse, to terrible. The headache won't ease and the lights are making her eyes wobble in and out of focus. Holidays are not something Rogue is looking forward to; nor to the subsequent loneliness that it tends to bring on.

Her only consolation was Logan was here this year. At least she had someone else she could relate to without a family, who had become her family overnight. She looks behind her to the rest of her friends, Kitty and Piotr teasing Bobby about something. They were her family too; but they had families to return to when they wanted to leave. Well, Bobby doesn't, she reasons, not anymore anyway. But he had, had that love growing up. He had that fondness of Thanksgiving's feast or Christmas, of waking up for presents, having a home cooked meal without fights.

Rogue had spent much of her time hiding. And she couldn't remember a Christmas when she received a present. The mood goes from terrible, to horribly worse. She drains her cup and snakes out of the kitchen, wanting to just hide away. Or hit something. She's pretty sure that's Logan's side coming out in her.

Gently she tip toes down the hallway toward the rec room. She hears kids running in and out of the main doors, hiking up the stairs and running down them; by the end of the night the place will become a deserted mansion. Maybe only a dozen people will be left in the house and Rogue is slightly terrified and comforted by this. It means less worrying about hurting someone, but also the added safety in numbers trick won't be there should they be attacked.

Even now she was still thinking like an X-Man.

Pausing at the door of the room, she sees Kurt sitting on the couch, stringing together popcorn on a very long piece of thread. She turns to leave but he stops her. "Good afternoon Rogue," he greets calmly. She glances back and can see the hesitation in his eyes.

She knows he's still uncomfortable around them. Heck, she still is and has been at the mansion so much longer. "Ah'm sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to get away from…" she sighs. "…everything." She doesn't feel the urge to elaborate as she's pretty sure Kurt's smart enough to get her. He hides almost as much as she does.

Kurt Wagner stands, the popcorn string hanging by his pants. She sees the faded grey slacks and crisp white long sleeve shirt glow against his blue skin. His tripod tail swooshes behind him and for some unknown reason, Rogue smiles. "I know what you mean." He agrees. Softly he shakes the popcorn catching her eye. "I used to do this with my adoptive parents. It might be too early, but it felt right to complete the task. Do you want to perhaps join me?"

He was giving an olive branch, which that much was obvious to Rogue. Gripping her hands into her leather gloves she mentally makes sure she is covered. Long sleeved green shirt, grey satin scarf around her neck, hair pulled away into a ponytail of curls because she was too tired to bother managing it better and jean clad legs. She was sufficiently covered to sit by Kurt.

"Thanks," she says meekly and walks over. He shows her how to thread the first kernel on to the thin wire. Minutes later they are working amicably together in silence, and Rogue can feel herself become less stressed and irritated about her circumstances. Her headache slowly lifts away and her shoulders drop without the tension coursing through them.

Kurt yelps slightly next to her, and she giggles knowingly; he had stubbed his thumb on to the needle. She feels kind of lucky knowing her gloves are protecting her hands from the tip of her own needle. "So I hear we have a new visitor."

"Ah heard that too."

Kurt sighs and she pauses to look up. "Somethin' the matter Kurt?"

"I was only wondering about something." He glances at her. "Promise you won't tell?"

She crosses her heart like she is five years old again and Kurt chuckles quietly. It feels homely and she bathes in the warmth. "I worry for what this newcomer might bring. Ororo and he have a long history. I'm just nervous of what _history_ that might be."

"Ahh," she nods thoughtfully. Another popcorn puff is pulled through the wires. "She kept calling him 'lil brother' last night Kurt. Ah don't think you have much in the way of competition."

Kurt bows his head, shyly catching up to her popcorn string. If she peers close enough, she can see a small blush forming on his cheeks making his face slightly purple; she knows she has hit a hot spot for the man. It was obvious for his feelings for Storm since their first meeting in Boston some years ago.

"So then it is common news?"

"Well," she drawls. The needle pokes her and she curses at the sting. Maybe her gloves haven't been helping that much? "To everyone that ain't 'Ro."

A heartbeat goes by. "But that doesn't mean she don't feel the same ya' know? She's just had a lot on her mind recently." Her tongue darts out as the needle gets stuck in the center of the kernel. Kurt smiles and takes it from her, jabbing it harder to let it slide through easily.

She grins appreciatively as he responds. "I know this. We haven't talked in quite some time, but last night we did. She worries for everyone since the Professor's death. She tries very hard to be perfect."

"Yeah, Ah've noticed that. She's stepped right in to be the X-Men's leader and trying to balance it with the school's duties, plus grievin'. It's tough, Ah'm not gonna lie. Ah don't know how she does it."

"Nor do I Rogue." They smile at each other and when the last of the popcorn has finally been put together, Kurt and Rogue move it to the barren tree in the back corner. Lights of many different colors are already strung on to the branches, and the popcorn garland is draped nicely against it. Rogue feels a sense of belonging grip her heart and it takes her a minute to understand she likes the feeling.

"Would you like to help decorate?" Rogue feels herself smile and nod slowly. She cannot remember a time that she has ever decorated a Christmas tree. Kurt beams, and opens two small boxes of ornaments. "I found these in the attic. I believe they were heirlooms from the Professor's family." He holds up a small bulb with a picture of a young Jean and Scott with Xavier standing in the background. Kurt can feel the happiness there, a moment frozen in a happier time. "And some from Ms. Grey and Mr. Summers childhood. I thought it would be nice to remember them this way."

"Like they're a part of us no matter where they are?"

"Yes, exactly." Silently Rogue agrees with his reasoning. She was tired of grieving the loss of her teammates and teachers. She takes the bulb and gently hangs it on to the branch, the gold glitter sparkling under the lights of the sun warming the rec room. She can see wear on the glass but it shines anyway.

She wants to think about her peers without feeling her stomach bottom out and tears well into her eyes. She wants to remember them fondly; and she knows 'Ro and Logan would too.

Rogue glances at the picture of a young Scott, and feels a zing of pain hit her temple. She blinks, startled, and grabs her head. Kurt is right next to her, steadying her as an image takes her. A young boy, his eyes banded by thick white gauze runs with a blonde girl leading him with other children down a tunnel. A woman, the same from earlier with dark knowing eyes smiles encouragingly before running behind the mass of children toward the outside world. She can feel fear; adrenaline and love swell in her heart, before it turns to white hot anger.

She drops to the ground and Kurt is holding her. His three digits are pressing against the fabric, clutching her to his side. "Rogue! Rogue, talk to me! Tell me what you are seeing."

The image vanishes and she panting as she looks down at the hardwood floor. She's screaming and crying as a pain slices into her side and then her chest. She can feel blood pooling from her wounds and then stitching together quickly, almost hurriedly to fend off infection. Her body is battling but her mind is blank. She sees the crisp golden walls and paneled flooring - but her body wages an unseen war that cripples her, leaving her nerves a mess of hot blinding pain. She screams a blood curling yell as Kurt shakes her.

"Rogue! Rogue?"

The scream dies in her throat as if cut short. The feeling stops. Her eyes focus, her arms tremble. Breathing hard she sits back, bile swimming in her stomach and Kurt's yellow eyes staring at her in concern. She panting, healing and dying and hurting. She doesn't know why. She can't to begin to understand why. "Tell me. What did you see?"

"Ah saw Scott. He was young, really young." And the headache is back in unbearable bursts of pain as her eyes close of their own accord. Her hands find her temples as she pushes on them to stop the pain. "My head hurts. Ah can't make it stop, Kurt! Ah can't."

She begins to feel wetness on her cheeks as she cries from the pain behind her eyes and the wounds inflicted on to her unawares body. The headache feels like tiny firecrackers, setting off inside her mind, circuits and nerves curdling into a jumble of painful bursts of fire. Kurt pulls her closer and wraps his arms carefully around her. He rests his chin on to her head and begins to softly pray above her; asking for strength to help his friend and for Rogue to have the strength to overcome this.

Kurt's words begin to soothe Rogue after a while and she lets him rock her gently on the hard flooring. The pain begins to ebb away, leaving heavy tears on her pale cheeks and her body throbbing along with his heartbeat. Her mind is a whirlwind of information – she doesn't how or why Logan would know Scott when he was a kid. How or why her body feels as if she's climbed a mountain; why her body feels as if she's been stabbed repeadedly and yet continued to battle onward.

And frankly, she doesn't think Logan would know either. She could feel the memories wanting to come out but something is blocking them; something holds them back from Rogue when they're triggered. And it hurts when the memories hit this blockade. It causes her brain to freeze and fight against the wall inside her mind; and the pictures disappear behind the wall so she cannot even begin to examine them more closely.

She briefly wonders if this is how Logan's mind feels when his memories try to surface? Does it hurt him, as much as it hurts her? Is that why he can no longer remember who he is or how? Has the pain finally stopped him from trying to remember, much in the way it assaults her now?

She feels Kurt pull back and look down on her with so much compassion she is almost moved to further tears. "You are having problems with your mutation again correct Rogue?"

"Sorta," she replies and sits further back. His lean arms leave her slender body and something about his musk is familiar. It reminds her of an earlier time in her life; homely, comforting, peaceful. She pushes it away, focusing on the blurry images that are receding quickly. "It's Logan's memories. They keep trying to show me somethin'. And Ah don't know what it is."

He nods slowly. He holds up one finger. "You're powers might be changing again. Whereas before the Cure, your powers were easily stimulated by a brief touch; they are not now. Perhaps now, instead of locking memories away easily, you are now not able to?"

"Maybe," Rogue mumbles. She worries her bottom lip; she might think Kurt was right on some level but she could feel something different. The others she absorbed didn't come to her in this pattern. She could take those memories out to examine without problems. Why was it now Logan's memories hurt her so much? Was it the amnesia? Did that transfer to her, now that the Cure has royally screwed with her powers?

She sighs, shoulders drooping. The Cure still haunted her, even months after returning "normal". "It might be, but Ah don't know. It's like a trigger will set it off, but before it can make sense to me, it hits a wall."

"And the collision causes you pain _ja_?"

"Yeah."

They sit in a few moments of remote silence as Rogue pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her long arms around them in comfort. The sounds of children leaving have ended and the mansion is eerily silent in the late afternoon hours. Rogue glances up at Kurt who is staring at the tree with a heated gaze. She sighs and says bitterly, "Ah wish the Professor was here to figure this out. He'd know what to do."

A smile flirts across his intense face before he rubs his neck bashfully. "_Ja_, Rogue. I think he would."

* * *

><p>AN: So? Anyone sees where I'm going with Rogue's many different relationships? Or even where I'm taking Logan? Any predictions?<p>

Also, you'll notice some references to the characters past. I know I'm not in canon - I'm sure Rogue had at least a better time being brought up with Irene (and others) than I've depicted above; comics, cartoon or movies even. But for this to work, to get into her mind, I needed to harp on it a bit. Same to Logan - his family situation is similar. Bobby not having one to return to, because of the events in X2 seem to fit well into this - especially considering his brother called the cops on them, the wanted mutants. As for the heirlooms - it fit in my head, seeing as how Jean and Scott were Xavier's "first", they would have the nice decorations, the closeness because they were essentially children when they first joined. Prof was always seen as a father figure, him indulging them seemed to work, especially during the holidays; remember they seemed to have "happy" memories when they thought on the Professor.

Kurt's Popcorn string - I'm not sure if Germanic people do this - I'm not even sure those in the Circus would do it. But it's a warm tradition that seems to bring out his tender side, along with a slight childishness to bond with Rogue, so I went with it. If this doesn't fit, or just seems way off, let me know.

Thanks for reading! Leave me a line or two!

_Peace_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**AN:** Thank you so much for the reviews! I love hearing what's working and what isn't! And trust me, a few more pieces of the puzzle are coming together in this chapter. Leave me some thoughts at the end!

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><p>"<em>What could ever come of something so luscious, something so red, as a pair of fine cherry colored lips?" - Unknown<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Remy blinks once. Twice. Looking at the time on his night stand, he can clearly see the bright sun flittering into the opened blinds of his guest room. Pale brown walls and thin but a hardy wooden floor gleam in the yellow rays. Slowly his eyes look down and the empty bottles of wine covering the expensive flooring, tell him why he didn't remember to shut them before passing out cold.

"There's no way I should be awake right now," he grumbles and turns over for more shut eye. He doesn't remember what awoken him and frankly he doesn't care. Seconds tick by as his breathing settles before his door loudly bangs open. Ororo rushes into the room, long black pants fluttering with her quick movements. The heels are harsh against the wooden beams and Remy grits his teeth to keep from snapping.

"Wake up!" She calls, slapping his leg in the process, her hip bumping the bed post. Bleary eyed, Remy pokes his head through the covers, red orbs scorching her with hatred as he ducks back under. It was before 5PM; Remy should not even know what that looks like. He didn't want to know what it looks like – as a thief, hands for hire, and his schedule was strictly a nighttime adventure. Early morning routines are nothing but a hindrance.

"C'mon sleepy head." She calls again. She sounds further away this time. He pokes his head out again, glancing at the connecting bathroom and hears the water turning on. Steam begins to pour into his bedroom but he doesn't care. He hides again when she comes back into view.

"Remy LeBeau, up!" She demands and the covers are yanked off. She shrieks as only Remy in his birthday suit stares back at her, wide open for the entire world to see. She throws the blankets back on to his behind in disgust, while he laughs tiredly at her hasty move. Her cheeks are stained a bright pink. "Really? Must you sleep nude?"

"I like how I sleep," he mumbles. Peeking one eye up at her, he levels a condescending stare her way. "Don' go taking covers if y'don't want to know what's underneath _ma soeur_."

"It isn't like I have never seen it before." She snaps lightly. And it's true. Storm shakes her head ruefully – she doesn't want to think about **that** situation _again_. It is enough to know she was in a long line of women that had seen Gambit naked.

Groggily Remy sits up, the blankets just covering his lap. She prays to her Goddess that it stays that way. "It's early _chere_. Why y'be in here?"

"It's late Remy," she scolds, smile twitching on her lips. The life of a thief – she remembers it well enough, though the circumstances were still fuzzy. He would have to acclimate to waking up early if he were ever to put down roots at the mansion.

She doesn't tell him this; he would only rebuke at the idea. But Storm worries for her friend. She wants him safe, wants him happy. She had seen the effect of losing his life in New Orleans; saw the effect of losing the one woman the skirt chaser thought was "the one". She also knows he still holds much of the pain back. He grieves for his life and pretends to enjoy everything he does now. But he drinks more now, he smokes more, and he gets into deeper, darker holes during moments of his intense and lonely life that Ororo is afraid she won't be able to dig him out next time. The last time had been during their stint together, she an amnesiac woman who thought she was twelve and he a loner with a death wish. She still couldn't remember how she was able to earn his rarely given trust, and keep him alive when all he wanted to do was die.

Luckily for her, it has been a long time since he went that route. She thanks her Goddess everyday for that small victory. But she knows Remy needs a family in order to function and he has been away too long from his own. She was his next closest kin – she was his sister, in my mind and spirit. She only wanted to protect him. Having him in her home, near her, away from the employers he associates with would put her mind at ease. And keep her little brother safe.

But again, she won't tell Remy this. He will only rebel. He is independent and dense and stubborn; he has taken care of himself longer than most people in their lives. He hated being cared for – so she would have to show him the pros of living at the Institute, let him make the decision on his own. Softly she smiles as he shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose; the Professor had wanted him to join years ago, she had learned. Maybe it was finally the right time for it now.

Waving her hand to the light at the window to emphasize her point, she says, "And I thought you'd like to see the mansion. Get an idea of what I really do here."

"_Oui, ouais_." He gripes and stands. Thankfully for Ororo he holds the comforter around himself. He knows better than to argue with Stormy; she's proud of her school. She's proud of what she's doing and in whose memory she does it for. He knows he should just agree with the Weather Witch and get changed. He's interested in seeing what other surprises are in store for him.

And if he can see that _Rogue_ again. "I'll take a shower and be ready in a few 'mkay?"

"And shave!" She yells as he closes the door. He locks it just to be on the safe side. "You look like they just dragged you out of the bayou last night!"

"Remy take dat as a comp'ment!" He yells back, laying his accent on thickly. He hears the snort on the other end as Ororo rolls her eyes at his foolishness. Gratefully he turns toward the hot shower and drops the blanket. Taking a shower does sound like a good idea.

* * *

><p>Emma walks around in the darkness, her heels clicking loudly as she goes. It isn't the sounds that put her on edge, or the reason why she has come. It's because she's wanted to meet with him since their last encounter. She's wanted to see the Professor – if not to ensure her safety, but of that of her family's. And she feels this is the right path in doing both.<p>

A few more steps she wobbles slightly until she loses her patience. She's nervous and unsteady. The Professor is a powerful mutant even not in his real body. Emma was well informed when she was first recruited into the Hellfire Club of who were those she could take, and others she couldn't. She knows Charles Xavier is one such man. She can feel his strength the moment she was sucked into the astral plane again – this time not as painfully as previously. Crossing her arms she looks about before mentally shouting bitterly, _'I'm here! You can come out and play now Professor!'_

A light flickers on as Charles Xavier walks toward her. It seems odd for him to be moving around on two legs. She gets the impression that is not how he's supposed to be.

'_I'm right here Emma. You came back.'_

He sounds surprised and Emma smugly stands taller. She likes keeping people on their toes. She likes being the one in control. She likes being unpredictable because when people don't expect things of her, she can do anything.

'_I did.'_

'_Then you'll help me?'_

She nods once but it is so dark on her side that she can't tell if he sees her or not. She tries to step closer but he moves the same amount back. He keeps a warm smile on his face but Emma can tell he doesn't know her plans. She's been thankful and lucky to have that part of her mind well protected from invaders. She's spent enough time barricading it from prying eyes.

'_Under one condition: I want safety when this is done. And for my family.'_

Suddenly the Professor is in front of her, his height equal to hers' in the tall platform boots. He studies her curiously before he nods. Images flicker by as she lets him see what she means. An older woman with dark hair, stunningly deep eyes and a welcoming smile shine at him. Then he feels the shot in her side, the unconditional love in her gaze and the abrupt cutoff. Their link is finished; but Emma doesn't know the magnitude of the feeling until she's away – how she got there was still a mystery to herself.

Emma feels her eyes tear up but she ignores it. She had felt the moment her older half sister had died on the shores of the nuclear plant. They had always had a strong bond; especially considering how much of a prick their father was to them. And her suggestion power was very similar to Emma's mind control. But now she was dead, giving her life for her younger sister and a man Emma barely knew. She knows he was the reason they were able to escape; he was their distraction.

But he was one of the reasons her big sister was dead too.

Then more images go by of Emma as a student, her two younger sisters and her older brother. She lets the Professor dive into the hatred she has of her father, the ill excuses of her mother's drug addictions that pushed Emma's gift to the forefront. She lets him see the exact moment of knowing everything and then nothing when her powers first evolved. The point in time when her father smacks her and her diamond skin appears to fend off the hits. She lets him feel the love and closeness with her brother; a man who has been in the closet, scared to be himself out of fear of her father's rejection and abandonment. She lets him see the younger sisters she must protect like her big sister protected her from their father and the life he wants of them.

Because Father would have them join the Club just like her. And they were neither tough enough nor hard enough to do what she has done in order to gain entrance. All in the name of making her sadistic prick of a father happy. And to keep the attention off of her darling younger sisters.

The images stop abruptly as the Professor looks down at her with something akin to compassion, kindness and pity. Emma _hates_ pity. _'You want to save a family, which has been nothing but a hindrance? I must admit, I'm shocked by this Emma Grace Frost.'_

'_Yeah well,'_ she brushes off. _'Shaw will hurt them when I do this. I don't need their deaths on my conscious. And I don't need my father intruding into my affairs.'_ Her blue eyes steel over as she looks into the dark eyes of Charles Xavier. She feels a tickle of familiarity but it vanishes before the thought implodes. _'Do we have a deal? You keep my family safe, my siblings away from my parents, and I'll do what you wish.'_

The smile is relieved and grateful. Emma shakes off a feeling of what she can only describe as pleased. She doesn't want to feel anything toward this man. _'We do. But you must do this my way, Ms. Frost. If not, I'm not sure what the ramifications will be.'_

'_Whatever you say Xavier. Just tell me what you need, and I'll get it.'_

They shake hands as Charles says, _'I need another student of mine. Her gifts will help us in this. She isn't another telepath, but I believe with her special abilities, she'll be able to boost our efforts.'_

'_What's the kid's name?'_

'**Rogue****.'**

* * *

><p>The air smells like ash, burnt tires and fried electrical wires. Flames are on either side of the large mounds of debris, with the heat nearly reaching the mid hundreds. Sweat pools down her face and into the collar of her leather uniform, making her stick and chaff uncomfortably.<p>

Rogue ignores this as Kitty, or rather Shadowcat phases next to her; her hand slips through the wall and then the rest of her body momentarily stunning Rogue. She knows in the back of her rational mind she is just trying to keep panic out of her system. She knows they're only in the Danger Room during an intense exercise; she knows this deep down. She knows nothing in that room can hurt her – or so she believes. But she can't help the creeps of fear over her back or the hyper sensitivity to her surroundings. She can't help thinking this is a real battle, and it's a life or death situation that she must win.

This time she and Shadowcat have been paired together. Bobby, or again rather Iceman who has made himself into pure ice (he's been doing it more and more ever since Alcatraz) and Colossus are across the way, hiding behind an upturned car. They can feel the air stir as a high mechanical noise erupts, followed by screeching blown car horns. The ground shakes and rumbles as a sharp mechanical beast steps down, air whipping around the X-men.

"Incoming; Sentinel!" Iceman shouts as he and Colossus run backwards. The car is lifted, thrown into the air that looks like a shooting star. The guys run toward Rogue and Shadowcat, hiding as a blast from an electrical canon barely misses where they stand.

Together they press against the mound, hearing gears twist and turn. Cars die off, as alarms blaze under the movements of the Sentinel. The panic is soaring. Rogue isn't the only one forgetting it was just a hologram; tension is tangible.

"Anyone got any brilliant ideas?" Rogue asks hunching lower as another blast of a laser passes over their heads. The brick wall in front of them collapses into dust. Shadowcat has her eyes tightly shut, and shakes her head. Light brown hair hits Rogue's face.

"Fresh out. Guys?"

"We could try what Wolverine and Colossus did last time? Throw and catch?" It's Iceman but his voice wavers. Shadowcat shakes her head.

"We don't heal like Mr. Logan does. We can't do that."

"What about a blitz attack? Take him from different sides to confuse him?"

"Colossus, are ya' nuts?" Rogue asks and ducks down lower. The beast is making his rounds and Rogue's neck chills over, knowing he is coming closer. They could only hide for so much longer. "Didn't work last time, won't now!"

"Then what?" Shadowcat yelps. Finally the laser is shot directly into the pile of rubble at their backs. The force pushes them into the mud and Shadowcat is knocked clean out. Iceman immediately drops to her side, feeling her neck for a pulse. When he feels something faint, though erratic he slumps in satisfaction.

"Iceman!" Rogue shouts to get his attention. He glances up as she and Colossus are moving around the debris. "We need t'get away from her. We won't be able to carry her 'round, but we can keep the threat off of her. C'mon!" She waves him forward as she and her partner take off, leather boots crunching dead grass and cracked pavement.

Iceman lowers a kiss on Shadowcat's head before he too runs. He knows this is easier than fighting with her on his back. This is how they can protect her from further harm. He doesn't like it, but he knows Rogue's logical thinking just saved Kitty and quite possibly the team.

Colossus begins shifting as he runs and the sheer force of him in organic metal is enough to knock through straight cement. The two others follow at a close pace, jumping as lasers and bombs sound behind their footsteps. Dirt kicks up, muds splatters their bodies as they duck and weave. They run clear across the lot, hanging back just once as a rocket flies before their eyes. The broken building is disentergrated into nothing but dust particles and wooden beams. Collectively they gasp, knowing full well that though it is a projection, that it isn't real, that they are being monitored, that the senerio in front of them could happen.

The war is mounting and they train because this situation could happen. Hearts are beating furiously and Rogue's knees shake with adrenaline and fear. She shouts out in panic as debris flies at the trio and Iceman pushes her down to save her from a large chunk of crumbling cement. The bang of a second explosion throws them forward, soil clinging to their faces and suits.

Red and white lights dance around them as the Sentinel steps closer. The earth shakes with its steps and the high pitch noise of its reactor heating up drowns out their surroundings. Rogue can feel her heart stop, her lungs constrict as they turn to face it head on. Slowly they stand, their legs shaking from terror and coursing adrenaline; they should move, fight, run, but none of them can make their feet function. The singular eye of yellow light blinks once and Rogue knows it's counting how many mutants there are; how many targets it can kill, how many weapons it should utilize. She can feel her hands fist and feet dig into the ground.

Now would be a perfect time to have an offensive power.

A rocket is shot and before she can close her eyes to squeal in alarm the hologram falters. Rogue steps back, feeling her teammates do the same. The image flickers hazily. The rocket disappears and the ground turns to silver. The walls of linked metal panels appear. The smell of ash and dirt fades as the clean metallic scent descends over them, followed by their own sweat and fear.

Rogue is panting as the Danger Room shuts down and the far doors open. She can see Kitty's body shuffle and then groan in the distance. Bobby takes off into a dead run, folding her into his arms once he reaches her safely. Rogue bites her tongue to hold back the bittersweet feelings inside. The urge to be close to someone, the love that Bobby shows Kitty is enough to make her inner turmoil snap; she still hasn't totally recovered from her episode with Kurt in the Rec room, and can feel the feelings stir in her belly again.

But she doesn't give in. She won't. Her anger, feelings of rejection, depression are not her teammates worry.

Glancing once at her gloves and the constricting leather, she and Piotr walk to the exit; she's biting to keep the depression away, and though she feels convicted that it won't consume her, there are cracks in her walls. From her morning with Kurt, to her crying session and the confusing images of Logan's past still in her system, it is hard not to let the feeling drown her. Incredibly hard and she's too tired to keep fighting them.

Rogue was always strong, always together. She just feels like giving in, falling apart, and letting her self pity consume her fragile mind.

They can hear Bobby and Kitty following at a subdued pace and her attempts falter slightly. "We royally screwed that one up." Rogue comments and hears Piotr chuckle next to her.

"Something like that." His laughter and warm smile make the gloom of her situation a little more bearable.

* * *

><p>Remy is leaning against the metal wall in the control tower of the Danger room. He sees the young woman Rogue walk toward the exit, say something to hulking mass of a man and he laughs joyfully at her. They seem close and this makes Remy sigh with a slight frown. He smirks at his attitude but is immediately put at unease when his hand goes to the small of her back to lead her down the hallway. Touching seems like a no-no to Rogue when he met her last night. The gloves had given it away.<p>

The cutesy couple limps behind them. He sees the look from the block of ice that is slowly melting to Rogue and he can feel something…muted there. There's tension but it's small; a longing but it passes. He doesn't let it get to him as the exit closes behind them.

What does get to him is the tight leather get up that accentuates all of Rogue's curves and the long whoosh of a curly ponytail that trails down her back. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from whistling; something he knows Stormy is waiting to hear. But he doesn't give in. He refuses to. He can be a gentleman…sometimes.

To his left is a small blue elf looking creature, with pointed ears, a demonic tail and only three digits on each hand. He's clicking away at the console as Ororo dictates from above. He's amused at the way the man blushes when Ororo talks to him, and even more amused by Stormy not noticing. The woman could be bitten on the hip with an admirer and she still wouldn't get it.

He feels obligated to say something but he fights the urge. Let the man do his thing and win her over on his own. He watches as the elf man, who Stormy calls 'Kurt', takes her hand gently and they both laugh at a small inside joke. He rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses; she was still his sister. It was weird for her to openly flirt with another man.

He wasn't jealous – just slightly put off.

He's only known the harsh, lecturing Stormy. At that, he smiles. A flirting, sexually aware woman was just downright wrong.

The doors open to reveal the four younger teammates. They can't be much older than twenty, twenty-one; Remy is mentally slapped like a dumbfounded fool. He feels so _old_ now compared to these kids. He was what – pushing thirty four? _Mon dieu…_

"You wanted to see us?" Ice block kid asks as he lets go of his tiny girlfriend. Remy can't help but roll his eyes at how thin and small the girl is. Does she ever eat? She gave a new meaning to the word 'petite'.

"Yes," Stormy says and grins at the group. They look ready to handle a back lashing before she points in his direction by the far wall. None of them had seen him when they entered and he uncoils himself perfectly. Immediately he can almost feel the air of dominance stir as Icee stands taller.

'_He's threatened by me'_, he laughs internally. Outwardly he's stoic and composed; his normal poker face. Rogue smiles shyly and he nods his head in greeting. She was downright cute, in a girl next door way, but the outfit… Lord. It'd be a shame if he couldn't see more of it.

"I want you all to meet Gambit. He's a friend of mine and will be staying for a few days with us." She shoots him a pleading glare and Remy can feel his wall weaken. He needs to be here for Stormy; she likes having him nearby so she can keep an eye on him.

He's really the only family she's got. And he knows how she values family. So against his better judgments, he'll stay a few days longer than he thought he would.

"Gambit," she points to each in turn, introducing them. She doesn't use his real name; he's thankful for at least that common courteous. He didn't mind telling Rogue his real name but the others? He doesn't know them well enough yet, nor feel like they're trustworthy to know his name. "Bobby, Piotr and Kitty." She points at Rogue. "You've already met Rogue."

Again, she waves shyly as the others move to shake his hand. When he gets to Bobby he can't help but smirk to annoy him. It works – his face draws tight in suspicion.

"We're glad to have you here. A friend of Storm's is a friend of ours." Though his face is serious, his eyes still twinkle blue. He could see the charm the kid has – baby blue eyes, smart, good wholesome boy. Suddenly, he doesn't like him too much.

"Y'say that to all the pretty ones Iceman? Or am just dat special?"

"What?" He asks in confusion but Gambit has already left him. He nods politely to the gentle giant Piotr, before taking Rogue's gloved hand and chivalrously kissing the back of it. He doesn't want to piss the giant off if he has any attachment to the _fille jolie_, but he can't help but touch her. Something about her is forbidden and intriguing – he hasn't met a woman like that in some time.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Rogue." He greets. A small red bloom of a blush dusts across her pale white skin, flushed from her work out and hitting her with just enough color to give her a sweet sparkle.

She looks absolutely stunning like that, her red lips smiling nervously. Gambit can hardly stop the easy grin as he stands. He doesn't let go of her glove and all he can think are how her cherry red lips would taste.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> How's that? The plot is coming along, slowly but surely! I hope everyone enjoyed it! Any questions, comments? How do we feel about the Rogue-Gambit interactions?

Next chapter: Remy and Logan have a heart-to-heart … that is if Logan can keep from killing the Ragin' Cajun.

_Peace_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**AN:** And now we have the continuation! More answers and more questions. Let me know how this goes. Possibly some Romy-ish-ness here. *Side note* - I didn't really correct much of this, I just wanted to post it right away! If there's things that don't make sense, or I didn't explain fully enough, let me know!

**AN2:** On a personal note - sorry for the wait. I recently went South (we're talking deep Georgia country/ rural areas) to see my older sisters and their families. On my way there I broke down in a town that reminded me of "Wrong Turn" ((yikes!)), lost my engine, slept over a hotel in the closest city, _40 miles_ away before departing the following morning to their homes (still another 7 hours away because I was coming from upstate NY). Then I learned my uncle had passed. So life's been rough - I still do not have my car either and I'm going insane! Hang in there with me while I get going on this again.

Enjoy!

_One need not be a chamber to be haunted;_  
><em>One need not be a house;<em>  
><em>The brain has corridors surpassing<em>  
><em>Material place.<em>  
><em>~Emily Dickinson, "Time and Eternity"<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Logan's nose is something few people can understand. It doesn't just take in oxygen for Logan to use in his cells. It tracks smells, identifies them before Logan's mind can catch up to it. Before Logan knows it, he is stalking down the hallway, the second floor deserted except for him, tracking a scent that is strangely familiar but unknown.

It reminds him of a southern, balmy night with the remnants of spice, plastic chips and the copper tang of blood. He can't pinpoint how he knows it, but it's a tickle at his senses. It drives him, yearns to be known, to be understood. It's a scratch that he can't reach; and he wants to rip his claw into the infectious piece of skin to stop it.

But he can't because he's clueless, and he won't ruin something before he understands it. So he sniffs harder and the scent pulls him to an empty room down at the other end of the school as he looks for answers as to why he recognizes the smell; when he knows he _shouldn't_. A deserted wing nonetheless, where answers are limited, and Logan growls under his breath.

He opens the door, one hand holding it stiffly and the opposite letting his claws slice into the air as an added threat. They glint in the waning sunlight, and his shoulders tense, readying for a fight. He takes one step in. He sees a towel on the floor, damp from usage, clothes thrown on the mattress and a duffel bag by the foot of the bed. The comforter is on the floor in the bathroom.

Logan walks fully into the room, he sniffs harder and the smell is rich. Spices, cloves, sweat and wine wrap together to surround him in a cocoon. He glances at the floor on the other side of the bed and sees three empty wine bottles; all red. Wine smells foreign – he knows it should be thicker, seedier, a heavier liquor that accompanies this smell and person. He knows it. He just doesn't know _why_.

Carefully he pulls the sheets to his nose and sniffs harder. There's a trace amount of perfume – grassy with a light airy smell of calla lilies. _'Storm'_, he thinks and knows this is her friend. This is the one who came in late. The person, who somehow triggered Rogue's relapse with _his_ memories, is in_ his_ territory; in this place that he finally, feels comfortable enough to call _home_.

He now knows this person is linked to his past. Somewhere, somehow he knows this guy. _But how_?

Logan stalks from the bedroom, growling under his breath to himself. He lets his nose lead him, pulling him from the second floor to the main level. He takes in another drag, and turns towards the elevator hidden behind the thick wooden panel. He waits for the doors to open impatiently and walks in once they sound.

The metal is sharp and clean but he ignores his glaring reflection as the elevator descends. He ignores the way the doors open and he can clearly see the old wing where Jean's med lab used to be; where he awoke to what he thought was an Angel. He ignores the room that she stayed in while she was comatose, and then attacked him in. He ignores all of these things because his nose is pulling him away, and he doesn't want rage to fill him before he even sees this guy. He wants to be in control before he meets his past.

But he can't help glancing back just once, almost imagining a flare of red hair around the corner, mocking him and hurting him at once.

He's losing it, he thinks. He hurriedly walks faster and moves past the Danger Room doors to the glass cases that the X-Men uniforms are stored in. A lone one with hints of green lines make him pause but he keeps going. It feels like a slap to his sensitive nerves but he ignores it. He has to. He goes straight to the doors of the control tower and he can barely control his emotions once he pushes those metal doors apart.

He's angry, but hopeful. He's proud, but slowly losing his control on his impatience. Answers are in front of him and he can't decide if he wants them or not. He feels like he's coming undone from the conflicting thoughts and emotions so when the doors slide apart and he sees a strange but familiar man holding Rogue's hand – _his_ Rogue, who he has mentored and protected for years - something snaps. He begins to growl and rush forward, ready to attack a foe that has made him endure so much turmoil in such a small amount of time.

It doesn't even occur to Logan that the man could be friendly.

It's a surreal feeling as Logan surges forward, his claws extending from his fists. The rush of skin cutting then healing is exhilarating and frightening even now, after all these years of it happening. He notices the man darts away, the easy smirk bleeding away to a fierce, hard frown.

A staff appears out of nowhere, fending off Logan's quick, jerky movements. He hears the clang but he's in another time. Memories of a familiar fight kick him in the temple. He sees the man before him, but younger, scrawnier, and more head strong. He expects the staff to slice in two but when it catches his claws, Logan is shocked.

This isn't supposed to happen. The kid is supposed to be quick but careless. He's supposed to be sloppy with hints of skill forming underneath. This man in front of him is fluid, deadly accurate with his staff which makes Logan feel a thin trail of sweat on his brow. Logan never sweats from physical exhaustion. Shockingly he's impressed.

Shouts are behind him, some pleading, and one demanding him to call off the attack. But he's fighting not just the man in front of him, but a boy from another time, and a man who he can only describe as his _brother_. Logan blinks as the man lands a well placed swipe to his head. Metal slams into his metal plated skull harshly, blinding him momentarily as his eyes roll back into his head. He glances back and sees the staff begin to glow red violet, almost a hued purple, _magenta_ and sees the surge go toward the tiled floor.

In slow motion, he grabs the staff into his calloused hands, claws retracting swiftly. He _knows_, but he doesn't _know_ what that power will do to the flooring. "Don't do it Gambit." He bites out, bewildered he knows the name at all. It's there on his tongue and now flashes of the kid strike him dumbly.

He's smiling as he flies an airplane. He's cocksure and flighty. He finally tells him _'Gambit'_ is the name he's chosen for himself. And he saved him from cops. He got him to an island. Why did he need to get to an _island?_

"Logan?" He drawls, breath hitching at the end. His sunglasses have fallen in their scuffle, smashed beneath their heavy feet. The red on black colored eyes are different – last time he checked the kid had brown eyes. "Logan, is that really you?"

Logan pulls back, stiffly dropping the staff as if the metal was too hot to touch. This could have been possible seeing as how Gambit hadn't relieved the charge yet. The energy brimming inside the pole is crackling but Remy doesn't notice until Storm clears her throat hesitantly. He pulls back the force into his hands. He's grinning from ear to ear.

"Y'look exactly the same!" He laughs, stepping to hug the man as if they were lost friends. Logan holds up his hands to ward him off.

"I'm not big on hugs."

"Neither am I," He chuckles. "'M just happy y'got away just fine. Y'didn't seem too fond of leaving when the cops came to raid the place."

"Cops?" Ororo asks from the background. Logan looks back as his mind settles. The scent is heavy around Gambit but his face is aged, weathered a bit from tough times. He's taller, almost towering over Logan now. He's still compactly toned, but he looks like he's actually eaten a burger or two. And his eyes… Logan glances at them again and can't help the raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, cops," Gambit laughs tiredly. He's looking at Logan as if he's waiting for something. The energy around them is tangible. "Y'don't remember nothing do you Logan?"

He doesn't like the resigned tone of voice the kid has – or man rather – and shakes his head. Images again briefly take him but he pushes them away. A name comes to him though, one that's sure to get his attention. He can remember the first time he ever said it.

"Remy LeBeau." Embarrassed, the man looks down then at Logan. His eyes are unsettling but Logan doesn't let it bother him. "Your eyes are different."

Blunt was always better than beating around the bush. He smiles again, but it's forced. He looks like he doesn't want to talk about it and he can feel Storm get closer to offer comfort. He can smell the same perfume that was on the man's sheets in the guest room. Her hand lands on Logan's shoulder but he continues to look at the man, waiting for an explanation.

"_Oui_, the eyes are different." Rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose he continues, "Y'knew they changed when I use my powers." A card flexes out from the sleeve of his trench coat. The jacket looks like it could eat him whole; at least that is familiar as he remembers dimly he wore something similar the last time he saw him. "Well after the experiments, and our last fight," he laughs but it's hollow. "They just kinda got stuck that way. I blame the doctors in that nuclear plant, but we'll never know."

Logan snorts loudly and puts his hands into his pockets. Suddenly it's awkward, and he's very conscious that he almost hurt what looks like a friend. He remembers a battle – but was it really? He stares at him, keeping his face neutral waiting for him to say something. When Gambit leans back against the wall, and retracts the staff Logan can't hold his tongue anymore. He can't wait any longer.

"Didn't I break that?"

"_Oui._ This be a new one. Made from the same shit that's in your bones."

His eyes narrow; how did he know about his bones? "We were close?"

Gambit laughs again, shaking his head as if Logan made a joke. "Close? Nah." The cards glow brighter and he pulls a few into the air; almost like a string that dangles them above his palms. Instantly Logan is pulled into another memory; of a deck of cards flying into his chest, exploding on him and catapulting him into a brick wall. He winces.

"Not close at all." Gambit says. "But we were as close as two men fighting for the same things." The plane ride comes to mind again and Logan shakes his head to dispel it.

"You took me to an island." He glances away and Rogue is there, her face hesitantly kind. He sighs and lets her move in between them. Her back is to Remy as if to keep Logan tame. She had to know as much as him. She had a right to know, he reasons. "Why did we need to go there?"

Gambit begins to reply with something but Rogue is closer, her dull green eyes pleading and catching his attention. Storm stops whatever Remy is about to say. "Let me help Logan," she says and removes a glove. "Ah have these memories in my head too. Ah need as much closure as you. If Ah touch him, Ah can pull the memories. If Ah touch you, Ah can shuffle around in them better. Ah can put the pieces together." Silently she thinks that she can keep from hurting Logan too – what if the memories cause him pain? What if it's too traumatic for him to remember?

She could take the brunt of pain. She could do this for him. He was her closest friend – her mentor, her family. She would do it for him. Like he would her.

"No," he says gruffly. He won't put her in more pain. Kurt came to him earlier to inform him of another of Rogue's breakthroughs. Rogue looks upset, but he waves Gambit closer. "We'll get our answers from bayou boy here. He knows some stuff and it might trigger the rest of the memories. Safely." His glare doesn't go unnoticed as Rogue cocks her hip in protest. Gambit watches it amused.

"And if they don't?" She testing him, willing him to see her way is better. She knows she can pull the memories if she tries hard enough – she hasn't done it before, but Hank and she have been working on consciously pulling just what she needs. She could try it with Logan; their bond was closer, better. It would have positive results.

But his face is hard. She can read the worry and fear in his eyes. He doesn't want to hurt her anymore. He wants to know but not at a risk of her mental stability. Grudgingly she has to agree, and looks with him at the new face. Both are waiting.

Remy looks between them and sighs benignly. "I don't know much per say," he begins. Rogue can't help but notice the slight rumble in his voice that makes chills run up her arms. "We fought a good fight, I do know that. You were after vengeance, which much was evident."

"Alright everyone," Ororo calls, clapping hands together. She can tell this talk is something that the whole mansion shouldn't be aware of; not until Logan said it was alright. "Out. Leave these three to talk." Softly the three younger teammates curse their luck and Kurt follows them out. Ororo is right behind them but offers a reassuring nod to her friends. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

The doors close as Logan grabs a stiff backed chair. His ankles are crossed as he waits on his guest, sitting soundly. "You can continue."

"Don't make a man feel like he's being interrogated," Remy grumbles but he too pulls up a chair. He turns it backwards to stare at the older man. Rogue stands behind Logan, narrowing her eyes on the newcomer. She feels like he's trustworthy but she's working off of Logan's body language.

He doesn't trust him. Not yet. So neither will she. Not until they get answers.

"What vengeance did I want Gambit?" He's serious but mocking the younger man gently. It seems foreign to him to drag in a stranger into his personal business.

"A woman." He smiles as if remembering. "She was pretty, I do remember that. Dark eyes, dark hair. Sexy smile." Rogue winces as her palm goes to her forehead.

She sees the pictures – sitting on the couch in each other's laps, sleeping next to her under the moonlight - and her heart swells as if she's in love. Glancing at Logan through squinting eyes she can tell he's seeing what she is. He's feeling what he did for the strange woman. But he doesn't move. He remains emotionless until he hears everything. She envies his control.

"Y'loved her." It was such a simple remark Logan couldn't hide his surprise. "Y'did. You were locatin' me because I escaped the island and the people there had killed her to get even with you. At least, y'said that to me."

"The island," Rogue mutters and looks at Gambit. She's still rubbing her head but pushing the pain away enough to ask questions. Gambit admires her strength; the pain looks extruciating. "It was a laboratory. They did experiments on mutants there? For projects in the government."

"_Oui_," he points to his head. "My eyes intrigued 'em. Was able to sweet talk my way out."

Logan snorts and Remy can't help but pout playfully. "Sweet talked huh?"

"Alright so I broke out," he's sulking but perks when Rogue smiles absently. The pain is still pounding in her head. "But after that I hid away in my home city. I knew those streets better than they did. Lost 'em there.

"But it didn't stop ya' from finding me. We fought a bit. Thought y'were trying to take me back." His eyes darkened, the rubies almost glowing in the florescent lights above, like ambers burning in a fire pit. "I wasn't goin' back there. It was an awful experience. One I will not relive."

"But eventually we did go back. You flew us over."

Gambit smiles proudly and Logan snorts again. Rogue winces but smiles all the same as she sees Logan's memories unwinding around her. The plane ride had scared Logan half to death. Something about flying had always not sat right with Logan. "My baby. Loved that thing."

"It's gone now?"

He shrugs. "Died a few years back. It was getting old. I still keep a piece o'her around me though. Just a knob but still." He takes out the black piece for show. "But _ouais_, we flown over. I dropped you off to find the killers of your girl. I went to find the rest of the kids t'get 'em out."

"And when we got there…"Logan trails off. He's looking into the distance. He is getting images, not pretty ones, nor happy ones. He sees the woman alive; he feels the pain in his chest. He almost wants to lash out but holds himself back.

Slightly. His claws pop out of their own accord.

"When we got there, she was alive. She tricked you into thinking she was dead. It was a huge plan to make y'get the surgery, make y'become…"Gambit trails off, gesturing to his friend's body. "You." Suddenly he wishes for a glass of bourbon. "And there was Stryker."

"Stryker…" Logan rubs his forehead. Images are discombobulated, but he remembers a younger Stryker, one who cared for mutants because of what they could do. He talked him into the surgery. He talked him into vengeance to go after… "I wasn't going after Stryker. It was someone else."

"Right," Gambit agrees. "It was Creed. Victor, really. He was your older brother – at least you said so in the plane. Never saw the resemblance though." Vaguely he gestures to his face, one eyebrow rising.

"Victor," it comes out as a growl. Rogue's hand falls on to Logan's shoulder and for unknown reason it calms him. "Yeah, I wanted him dead. I thought he killed her."

"Kayla," Rogue supplies and Logan nods. She remembers the name; she remembers how Logan felt the first moment he met her. He had never fallen so deep before.

Not until Jean, anyway.

"But it turned out she was as much to the plan as Vic was." Remy continues. He tilts back in his chair. "Y'getting any of this old man? Because I'm running out of information."

"Yeah, I'm getting it." And slowly like a jigsaw puzzle the pieces are falling together. He remembers the fight with Creed, then the fight with Deadpool. He remembers Kayla coming to his aid – he remembers her falling from a gunshot wound that she never attended to.

Then it is blank. His memory stops. The next moment is of Remy pulling him to a plane that he refuses to board. "Why couldn't I remember this?" He knows it was a painful experience but there was no way he couldn't have handled it. He knows his strength – it would have hurt to live with her death on his shoulders, but he would have lived nonetheless.

Gambit grins excitedly. He's brimming with energy. "They shot ya!" He laughs as Rogue's eyes open in shock. "Right int' the forehead." He points to the center briefly of his skull. "But it didn't kill ya'. Just knocked y'memory out of our skull. Funny really this be the only time it worked like that. Normally a bullet made from the metal on y'bones would have killed ya. But none did."

"Lucky me," Logan grumbles and stands quietly. His mind is reeling but he ignores it. He can see the pictures, he knows he felt for the woman Kayla, but it isn't making sense. He doesn't understand it just yet.

Maybe it was the grief over losing Jean blacking out his emotions for Kayla. Maybe he never felt for her. Or maybe, with his memories gone, his body buried the pain too deep so it would never affect him again. It was a self preservation that had dulled the emotions. He didn't want to cry. He felt like he had cried enough.

He didn't know, and frankly Logan had more to think about that a lost love that was killed because of him. He had already experienced that – and now twice again. He stares evenly at Remy but he can't take his demonic eyes from Rogue.

Something ugly stirs in his belly. Remy was a notorious lady charmer; that he remembers clearly. He didn't like the way he was looking at Rogue. Especially with the age difference between them; the man had to be at least thirty, if not older. It didn't sit right with him.

"Get out of here Cajun. We have things to do."

The man stands in one fluid motion and again Logan can't help but remember the young kid who had failed at being this smooth. And he's instantly reminded of the swift punch that Logan landed on him. Remy turns to leave but before he does, Logan says, "And thanks. For the information."

"_De rien_ Wolvie. Anytime." And he saunters away, leaving Rogue and Logan behind; his words are swimming around in their shared imperfect memories.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Well? It only picks up from here! How's it going so far?

_Peace_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter One.

**AN:** Thank you so much for your kind words and your thoughts! I appreciate it – on my personal note and the actual story. You guys are awesome!

One reviewer mentioned Remy hero worshipping Logan in the last chapter. You know I never noticed it, or even thought about it, but on some level I think that's true in this story. Logan made quite an impression on Remy while he was still growing up, and I think maybe he does admire the man. And looking through what I was writing, there are points that seem to elude to that worship. It gives them another side to their relationship. I love it. Nice catch!

I promise the ROMY is coming guys. Thanks for bearing with me. I just like having a slow build up, and with these two (who ironically in the movies never met), I think a slow burn is better than rushing it for the sake of it happening. What do you think?

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><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

Rogue is shuffling through the hallways, her legs, arms, back sore from the rigorous abuse Logan put her through. She wants to think positively – she wants to think he was so hard on her to teach her. She wants to think it was for her benefit he punched, kicked and swept out at her so deadly to make her react properly – as if the fight was life or death. As if she was on the verge of fighting an attack so brutual, her very life depended on biting, kicking and clawing to survive. She wants to think optimistically.

But at the back of her mind is a niggling thought that it wasn't meant for her. He was angry at what he had learned earlier with Gambit – Remy LeBeau. He was angry that he couldn't remember without him. And Rogue suspects he was slightly angry at the memories themselves. They proved he was from a different life, he had a different love, he was a different man. He didn't know himself as well as he had thought.

A whisper of the essence she drained from Logan makes her stop cold in the hall by her bedroom. He was angry because he thought he was weak for allowing memories to be blocked. It was pride to the man; all pride. And it was a hard slap to the face to know Jean hadn't been the love of his life. She could tell the way he fought her today; his mind was somewhere else, but his body knew how to react to a fight. He was angry, plain and simple, and had used her as an outlet, not directly, but as a punching bag nonetheless for his aggression.

And Rogue has the bruises to prove it.

Slowly she turns the doorknob to her bedroom, the yoga pants drenched with sweat and her t-shirt soaked to her skin uncomfortably. She can't help but think of the shower that awaits her, that will soothe her sore muscles and scrapes. She steps once into the room but a hand brushes the small of her back, making her jump in surprise.

She turns. Bobby is staring at her with a slightly friendly, slightly surprised smile on his face. She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? What's up Bobby?"

"I just wanted to see how you were." His feet shuffle nosily. "And how the information was? Is this guy trustworthy?"

Her hip cocks to the side, crossing her arms over her chest stiffly. Vaguely she notices her body has developed since she first appeared at the Institute more than five years ago. She doesn't remember her hips being so developed. "Ah think so. He knew a lot about Logan to help fill in the cracks in his mind." She points to her skull showing the truth of her statement. "And Storm is his friend." Enough should have proven his credibility.

Bobby nods, crossing his arms and looks down at the red carpeting. But it doesn't with him. Rogue desperately wants the conversation to end in order to take a shower. Her joints protest when she leans back against the wooden paneled wall. She notices that ever since Scott's death, Bobby has taken on his persona, taken on his worry and sense of team.

She can tell he wants to become leader. He has the strong shoulders in order to hold them together. But he also doesn't realize that Storm was their leader and Logan was second in the field and in the mansion. He sometimes took responsibility he didn't have to take. And it made him older, mature – which was a plus – but it made a different Bobby shine through. One she didn't know how to handle or speak to.

Especially when judging a friend of Ororo's just because he ticked him off. Rogue had thought Remy's comments were humorous. "What's wrong Bobby?" She asks again and feels her heart constrict when he looks up at her.

They separated on good terms. But it had happened after her powers came back; she didn't want to hurt him anymore. It had been a cruel joke for her powers to leave and then come roaring back. She didn't want to do that to Bobby too; like it had been a tease to Rogue, it would be plain mean to Bobby to work with her again. To risk his safety to be with her again.

It had been her decision to end things. It had been she pushing him toward Kitty for a relationship. It had been her who was too afraid to work toward something again now that her powers were back. And as she looks at him now, his ice blue eyes twinkling in the waning sunlight, she can feel her heart thump painfully.

She won't give into it. She knows it is only because she yearns for the comfort of another person near her. She knows it's weak. She knows she's slightly pathetic for wanting Bobby if not just for someone to be there, but she does. She has to admit – she is lonely. And with the holidays around the corner, Logan's memories in her head driving her to the brink of insanity; it was hard to forget why she ended it with Bobby. It was hard to remember why she was alone when she had this man in front of her that still gave her a slight butterfly affect in her belly.

It was hard to fight the temptation now to kiss him. Just once. Just to feel something. Something, anything, other than the cold numbness that is spreading through her body and had been since her powers returned.

Shaking herself, Rogue sighs at herself. She is weak. Too weak; to use someone like that was unimaginable. She was strong enough to do this. Strong enough to be alone. To prevent anyone from getting hurt by her skin. She could do this.

And yet…

She rolls her eyes as Bobby fights for something to say next. He was a sweet guy. But he wasn't _her _sweet guy, she reminds herself. He had cared for her, but with her situation always on her mind, their closeness was never going to go farther for an intimate relationship to succeed. They both knew that. And she didn't want to be hurt anymore. Hurt from trying, hurt from _hurting_ Bobby. It always killed her inside when she unintentionally drained him during a moment of play or closeness. She wouldn't risk him to that anymore.

Not like before... never would she hurt him like she had the first night her powers had returned. Not again. Not anybody ever again.

"Something about him doesn't sit right with me." He says, drawing in a deep breath. Rogue nods encouragingly. It was easier to encourage than to fight. It might end quicker and it meant she'd soon be in her warm bath water. "He's more than just shifty. He's hiding something."

"Well he doesn't know us." She rolls her eyes discreetly when Bobby looks away. "Why should he tell us anything if he isn't comfortable? Ah mean, Kurt still doesn't tell us everything because he's so nervous around us. Ah don't tell everyone, everything.

"People have secrets. That's what people do." Rogue sighs. The sweat is coating her skin in an oily mess and looks forlornly behind her to the bedroom door. When will this interrogation and debate of moral characters end?

"I guess so," he mumbles. She can see he doesn't like her explanation. She can see he wants to fight it, but she can also see how he trusts her still. Even after their separation, even after the rollercoaster that was their relationship, even after she hurt him, and pushed him away; he still trusts her opinion.

It warms her.

Until, he timidly brushes her hand. It's supposed to be platonic, a show of good will, friendship, trust and a comadrie. But it burns Rogue the wrong way. Even now, he was still afraid of what she could do. It cools her drastically. It reminds her why she and Bobby could never be. Whereas she was afraid to hurt him, he was always afraid to _touch_ her – to_ try_ to touch her.

He never wanted to risk himself. It was self preservation but still, it stung inside. It stung to think she was a monster, but to have the one person in the entire world she didn't want to see her as that, prove to her that she was, was a slap in the face. He never wanted to try, never wanted to go further than his comfort level. _He never wanted to risk himself. _Just as she risked herself to be with him, he wouldn't reciprocate the gesture. She wasn't worth the risk. Worth it to be fought for.

"Bobby, Ah have to go. Ah need to shower."

Without waiting for him to respond, she turns to her bedroom. Rogue slams the door once inside, her aggravation and insecurities bombarding her as she stalks to the bathroom. She yanks open the door, turns the shower on blinding hot, and forcefully slams that door as well.

She doesn't care if Bobby blames himself for her ill mood now. She doesn't care. All she wants is a shower; and to be left alone. Alone is better. Alone is just her. Alone is Rogue against the world. She is a fighter and above all, _a survivor_. Rogue has dealt with worse – she experienced putting Cody into a coma, the appearance and almost death caused by Magneto, the death of all her teachers that had rescued her from the madman, the loss and return of her powers. She will survive this.

She turns the shower on.

Letting the blistering heat overtake her body, she lets it pelts into her bruised skin. It stings, it hurts, but physical pain is better than the emotional roller coaster inside. Her stomach feels as if she will deposit everything into the drain. Her hands shake as they scrub at her white and brown hair. Her bottom lip trembles, but she does not cry. Rogue doesn't cry.

She wants control; she wants to be with someone without fear of hurting them. She wants someone to _want_ to be with her without fear. She wants to be worth fighting for. But she knows by having control, by letting people around her and touch her, she risks too much. She risks a hurt deeper than loneliness will give her.

And she doesn't know if she can risk it. She doesn't know if she wants control anymore. It couldn't be as bad as being alone; for it was better to be alone, and strong, than having control and being broken by another human.

Softly, Rogue begins to cry, letting the hot rain droplets of the shower mix with the salty tears on her heart shaped face as her resolve cracks. She isn't so sure what she wants anymore and the indecision is slowly eating at her.

* * *

><p>Logan is sitting on the bench. The cool wind is whipping at his face, his arms feeling the sting but it isn't affecting him. He's lost to thought, lost to emotions that rack him. He glances once at his hands, lets his claws pop out and growls under his breath.<p>

They were once bone he remembers. Bone that had killed his supposed 'father'; stabbed his supposed 'brother' during their numerous fights. He remembers. And now he can't make them stop.

It's like a dam that held back all the water of an age old river has been blown wide open. Memories, some happy, others terrifying take him, make him ride them out. He feels in each memory. He feels useless when his men kill that innocent tribe in Africa; and Victor is there watching. He feels pain and sorrow when the kind couple that took him in is killed for his sins; he can see the blood that soaked their simple clothing from bullet wounds.

He feels. And he can't make it stop. Another pair of claws comes out and he looks at them as if he did the first time adamantum was first applied to his bones. They're foreign but he knows them. He wishes he didn't.

He wishes he had left his mind closed – let these memories sit in the back of his mind, cobwebs covering them in obscurity. But he also knows eventually it would have driven him insane in order to know what his life was like. If anything, Rogue's pain at feeling his memories would have pushed him to find out. He'd do anything to save her pain.

A smooth hand touches his shoulder lightly. He sniffs; grassy notes and crisp flowers - '_'Ro.'_ "Is this seat taken?"

"Not right now." He remarks and she sits beside him. Her tight black designer shirt is light in the new winter wind and her long plaid black and white skirt ruffles against the breeze. Logan silently suspects the weather conditions don't affect Ororo like they do normal people.

"Good. We should talk."

"I don't want to talk." He growls and can feel his jaw tighten. Anger is the most prevalent of his emotions; one that he can't easily control. Confusion has been masked into anger and it rumbles uneasily in his gut. He doesn't want to release it, but its building. He needs another outlet; he had sparred with Rogue and unintentionally been too hard on her. He won't let that grief take him right now though – pity that he pushed the kid too far, too quick. He was an animal, she didn't deserve that.

But if he lets those feelings take him, he'll never come back. As it was he is hardly staying afloat in his mind knowing his past.

He needs something to take his mind off of his inner turmoil. The pain is crushing him – it's almost as bad as when he first lost Jean. Almost as bad as seeing the curtain of water rushing toward her and drowning her under the plane that she lifted to safety.

It wasn't as bad as the second time though. That had been pain, grief, and guilt mixed together. He still blames himself for her death. He had been the instrument behind it. He was always a killer – forever would be one, just like Stryker said.

"Then don't. Just listen." She instructs and he can't help but snort.

Ororo had always been a bossy woman. He could see it the day he met her. She had told him to pick a side, or get out of the way. She all but commands with her strong African voice of a woman who has led and protected and lost those she has loved to the world that feared and hated her.

But with the weight of the X-Men now on her shoulders, and the student body in her capable hands, her bossiness has become much easier to detect; not a product of emotions or stress, but of duty. She is the leader, she is their field commander. She deserves and demands that she be heard. She was a hard woman; Logan liked that about her.

"Remy told me he explained some of your past to you." She pauses as if he's supposed to say something. He doesn't. He remains impassive. "He also said you took it well. Of that, I know he must be lying." Another pause.

"Logan," she turns toward him, her deep eyes capturing his. They glaze over as if she's trying to read his thoughts. "I need you with me in this. We know something is coming. We can _feel_ it. I need you to work with me on this. What's going on in there," she jerks a finger to his head, tapping his forehead slightly, and "will affect you. It will eat at you. The pain, the memories, the anger, it will consume you.

"But you can't let it. You must learn to handle it." She sighs and sits back. She takes one of his hands into her two small ones. Small hands, and yet they could control the whole weather patterns anywhere in the world. It was mind blowing. "You can't let your emotions get to you. You're Wolverine. The kids look up to you. The X-Men look up to you. You have to come to terms with what you did in your past, the events that happened; otherwise you won't be the Logan we know. You'll become something else. Something that isn't meant to be here, teaching, lecturing, protecting with _us_."

"And what do you expect me to do 'Ro?" He snaps angrily, jerking his hands from her. His throat constricts painfully. Emotions rack him. He isn't supposed to feel – he's Wolverine. He was a killer, and yet now? The guilt, the unbearable weight of his actions is wearing on his nerves. "I'm an animal. Stryker said so. My thoughts tell me I am." He clenches his jaw as Ororo moves closer to him. Her perfume drifts to him on the cold wind. It's strangely a small comfort. "I was a killer. I was a mercenary. I did it because I _could_. I wouldn't want that around these kids."

"But you're not anymore Logan." She stresses. The light in her eyes is almost blinding to Wolverine; it is compassionate and hopeful. "You are a noble man who has helped us save the X-Men, saved children in danger, saved random people from harm. You're not an animal, you're not a killer. You're an X-Man."

She stands elegantly. Wind ruffles her short locks and Logan stares at the sky in thought. He feels the need to ask something of her. She speaks as if she has been where he is, as if she knows somewhere inside how he feels. He highly doubts she could _get_ it.

But he asks anyway. "You used to be full of anger 'Ro. You used to hate humans. You used to keep your feelings locked up. How did you get rid of it? How did you learn to handle the emotions?"

Quietly, she says, "I never really did." Softly she reaches to touch a nearby branch on a long dormant tree. It grounds her. "But I won't let my emotions control me. Not now, not when we're all needed in this fight. X-Men are not hateful beings, though I admit I have hated humans before."

Her eyes become slightly opaque as the clouds over the grounds clear away. Sun shines on them and he can see her shoulders ease in comfort. "I hated them for not understanding, but it is just ignorance. That's what we fight against, and protect those who cannot fight for themselves. The Professor taught me that. I control my anger because I am needed to be something else. Something more, something the Professor needs me to be. Just like you are needed to be something more, something more to the X-Men, to your friends and family.

"You're an X-Man Logan. You always were. Not an animal. Not a killer. Just a man who has encountered more than he should have. You handled it as best you could, given the circumstances. Now there is no changing the past. What is done, is done. What we do now is accept and move on to our true paths in life." She turns and begins to walk back to the mansion. Logan stares after her.

Over her shoulder she throws, "The Professor thought enough of you, by your character to let you into this home, into our lives. He believed in you. So do we. You just have to believe enough in yourself to become something more than what your memories and what you think your nature is. It is up to you now."

She walks away as Logan silently looks to the ground. Quickly he lets his claws slide out and snorts in disbelief to himself. Ororo had so much faith in him and yet did he have it in himself? He could remember his kills; he could remember the dreams of haunted faces that tormented him. He blinks back thoughts and agony, ashamed at his actions, yet inside he can feel something stir.

He wants to believe what Storm said was true. He wants to believe the Professor had really seen something in him worth wild; he just didn't know if _he _could. Not with all the evidence pointing to the contrary. "I need a beer." He says stiffly before he moves off the bench, heading toward the garage and away from Storm and her lingering perfume. He wouldn't even think about her lingering words.

* * *

><p>Storm wipes her eyes as she travels back to the mansion.<p>

She knows how Logan is feeling. She knows the kind of anger at oneself, at those around oneself. At the circumstance that makes one different; makes them a monster by society's standards or a lowly thief not worth much to society. Ororo snorts absently.

She knows how Logan is feeling and she knows the anger will eat him up. Because it slowly ate her until she was given another direction to place her feelings. She had seen ignorance at its best when she had lost her memory and traveled with Remy. She had seen the hatred of humans first hand. At what she was in order to survive – a simple pickpocket.

She understands Logan's torment. He has become something more than what he was; and he cannot understand why he was like that. He thinks himself worse – though circumstances have a way of making good seem hoorible. Ororo has been there. She just hopes what she said will be enough to make him understand; and make him come to terms with his past.

Because she needs him. She needs Wolverine in their coming times. She can't lose another friend, not to their own inner demons, not _again_. Storm wouldn't be able to live through that again. It had been daunting and trying when she had lost her three oldest friends. She wouldn't survive if Logan was lost too. And neither would the X-Men.

* * *

><p>Standing outside the kitchen doorway, Remy has a perfect view of the halls, the opening of the recreational room, and the full inner kitchen. His back is pressed tightly to the wall, in case anyone feels brave enough to come up behind him, and his cards are at the ready; in his front jeans pockets, quick enough to slip out with his forefinger and thumb.<p>

His auburn hair hangs in damp strands by his neck, plastering them as they dry. His white t-shirt is tight enough not to cause noise when he moves, but loose enough to be comfortable. He almost wishes for his jacket but Stormy took it to clean – she said it smelled too bad to be worn in her house.

He feels naked, so he steps further back to become one with the shadows. His eyes almost glow in the darkness but the only thing he needs to see is the small frame of a young woman sitting at the kitchen table. Leather gloves wrap her hands tightly, a pair of purple lounge pants and long black sleeved shirt makes it hard to see anything more than a simple curve of her neck and waist. Her brown and white locks hang in soft wet curls by her heart shaped face; as if she had come fresh from a shower.

He wants to engage her in a simple conversation. He wants to be witty, and charming toward her. He wants to seduce her like his other conquests – and there have been _many_ – but he holds back. Something about her screams "Don't Touch!" to his senses. She's covered head to toe, with soft purple fuzzy socks covering her pale feet to the tight leather over her knuckles. She also seems like the type not to tolerate his bullshit.

Remy laughs discreetly. Stormy didn't like his bullshit, but she tolerated it. Rogue was a young woman who didn't like games, didn't like mind tricks. She was old fashioned. She wanted honesty. Sincerity.

And Remy doesn't want to give that up just yet. He is barely honest with himself! There is no way a _femme _will strangle truth from him until he is ready to give it.

"Hiding?" a voice says behind him. Remy twirls around, his fingers slipping to grab a card, charge it all within three seconds. The voice laughs shyly. "Do not be frightened."

He feels something bump his arm and out steps Kurt from earlier. His blue skin blends with the shadows, making him seem nothing more than a voice. A highly Germanic accented voice that makes it hard for Remy to follow along. "I ain't scared."

"Then why did you jump?"

"Why y'be sneakin' up on unsuspecting peoples in a deserted mansion?"

"I wasn't sneaking," Kurt laughs. Remy feels his eyes narrow. "I was watching. You were expecting someone to attack you from behind."

"I wasn't 'supectin' nothing." He juts out his chin as if to prove a point. Kurt raises an eyebrow. He acquiesces slightly. "But it's hard t'break them habits."

"Ah," Kurt acknowledges softly. "Habits like those are very difficult to break. Sometimes they will stick with you until you reach the end of your life."

"True dat." He agrees. Kurt moves to the other side of the door, peaks in before leaning against the wood panel. He's dressed for bed in a simple shirt and sleep pants. His tail pokes through from a makeshift hole in the back. He'd find it comical if the elf hadn't just tried to scare a thief watching his prize, calculating his entry and escape routes.

"What's her story?" Remy asks guardedly. He doesn't know why; he could really ask Stormy and she'd tell him. Maybe. But something about the guy is friendly and open, though he tries to hide in the shadows.

Remy could relate. He always felt better in the shadows too after his eyes changed.

"Rogue?" He asks distractedly. He glances once more to her and shrugs.

"That's real helpful _homme_."

His eyes glow yellow and he stands to his full height. He almost rivals Gambit's height. "Rogue is special. She isn't one to be toyed with."

It's supposed to be an innocent statement, but Remy can feel a bit of repressed anger. He's making claims; he's exerting a type of control over Rogue. He's warning Remy should he get too close. _'This is interesting.'_ He knew the blue man had it bad for Stormy but what was his connection to this girl?

"What does that mean?"

He shrugs again and shifts back against the wall. The air around them cracks with tension but Remy tries to ignore it. Something weird is going on but he wouldn't be the first to say '_oncle'._

"Logan is very protective of her."

"I noticed."

"Good," he smiles, canines sharp and deadly in the simple grin that has Gambit wincing. "He is not the only one." Remy's skin crawls with the hiss of Kurt's tongue. Yet before he can retort, maybe even toss a lightly charged card just to prove he wasn't a scaredy cat, Kurt vanishes into a ball of blue smoke that smells distantly like brim fire and sulfur. Remy waves the smoke away, and wonders if he's pissed off an angelic demon?

It'd be just like Remy's luck to do so.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> I get this is slowly coming together. But please don't think Logan is being an abusive ass, or Kurt is really weird, or Storm is being too high and mighty, or Rogue is falling apart. There is a plan to the madness. You'll see soon. Action is coming!

And honestly, someone tell me if Rogue seemed to "damsel in distress"-ish? She's dealing with a lot. And eventually you're going to crack no matter how strong you are. But I like the "strong" Rogue who will pick herself up after she falls, as opposed to a weak one that won't. Tell me how she was here.

What did we think of Rogue/ Bobby? Does the reasoning behind why they're no longer together make sense? Any questions?

Get any of the Storm/ Logan vibes? I can't decide if I want her and Logan to start having a thing, or leave Logan be for awhile (he has lost two loves in his life, not counting his Japanese love from the comics)? Perhaps even give Kurt a chance? Which pairing do we like more?

Leave me line or two to give me your thoughts. And again, thank you!

_Peace_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**AN:** So... hurricane Irene right?

Is it just me, or does Mother nature seem a little... pissy lately? No?

But anyway, hurricane Irene did a heck of a job on my neck of the woods. And let me level with you, dear readers as to why I haven't updated this fic; I live in Upstate New York. The Adirondacks are a forty minute drive from my apartment. Farms, that produce apples, pumpkins, potatoes, squash etc and where we have our fall festivals (we're largely agriculturally based here) are a twenty minute drive. The capital is like a shot down one highway and I'm there in the bowels of downtown. I've experienced horrible ice storms and severe snow storms, and gods awful elections but a hurricane?

Never. And it was _horrible._

Granted we didn't get it nearly as bad as some places (the Carolinas and Virginia or even Jersey), but we got it. People were evacuated from homes (I was one of the few "lucky" ones that it was _voluntary_ to leave my dwelling; I stayed), there were rock slides, whole streets were under water, the Hudson looked like Niagara Falls. My step brother who lives in NYC actually had to move to "higher" ground otherwise he wasn't sure if he'd be there in the morning. It was_ insane_.

So that's what I'm dealing with; please excuse the tardiness a bit. I'm updating to escape reality (because who doesn't love to do that every once and awhile?), and to give you, lovely readers, another chapter. I just ask that you guys keep everyone in mind who were effected by the hurricane, and hope that relief, power and help reaches them in time.

And a special thanks to ChamberlinofMusic and Chellerbelle. You guys rock!

Now, escape reality with me and enjoy!

**Chapter 8**

* * *

><p><em>"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." - Arabic proverb<em>

* * *

><p>"So it begins. <em>Again<em>," Erik Lensherr remarks as he and Mystique walk toward the small military base.

Guards stand outside the main entrance doors, weapons made of heavy durable metal in their strong hands. Magneto can't help but smile as he feels the metal resonate in his blood. It calls to him, and though his powers are weaker than they had been in the past – which does nothing for his ego - he knows he can still easily subdue them.

He glances once to Mystique, who has shifted into a very attractive female with long black hair, neatly pressed suit and fixed sharp glasses. Her heels click along the pavement, and she tugs on his restraints. He almost wants to smile at the pain but he doesn't. It was all for show. The ropes were neither binding nor difficult to undo. And his regular streets clothes made him seem even weaker, frail as if he were just another common old man.

He _wasn't_.

"Stop! Identify yourself!" The guard shouts. His baby face and short blond hair reminds Magneto of a long ago youth and a time long ago regime. He looks like he'd like running a concentration camp. Narrowing his eyes, Magneto stops along side Mystique. His anger is bristling, making him struggle to contain his comments.

"I am Ms. Donna Richards. I have a prisoner, captured last night. I am to bring him here at the request of the Chief of Command." Her voice is slightly accented, no doubt making her claim seem more reasonable. If Erik didn't know her, he'd think she was from D.C as well.

"Come forward," he waves them to his post. The other guard walks to them, his gun pointed discreetly at the back of their necks. Erik feels the urge to yank the gun away coat him firmly. He never did like weapons pointed at him. But Mystique reads it in him and pulls his binds in front of the guard. It's to keep him subdued. Not yet, her eyes are saying. He needs just a few more minutes of patience before they could trick them into submission.

She needs a few more moments and he must hold his tongue. He was never good at waiting on others. "Do you have the required documents?"

"We do," she reaches into her pocket for a blank piece of paper. Handling the slip to the guard, his eyebrows furrow.

"You didn't come with a vehicle." It's a statement, and Raven shrugs.

"We don't need one," she whispers. She looks at Magneto, winks and when the guard's finger runs the length of his rifle, they spring into action.

Magneto turns pulling the metallic gun to him, as Mystique shifts into her real form. Blue scales replace olive skin, long black hair shortens into slicked back fire engine red locks. She out kicks with her long leg, catching the guard in the face as Erik raises both guns above their heads. She disables him, knocking him unconscious with a hard right punch and moves to the second guard, surprise evident on his face. He doesn't know if he should run, fight or beg. She knocks his legs out from under him with a swift kick as he decides, and holds his head between her hands as she crawls behind him; locking him effectively into a pretzel.

His air flow is lessened and he watches as the guns break into tiny pieces in front of him. The particles float over their heads before changing shape into a sharply pointed spear. It aims at the guard's tiny neck, his face turning blue from Mystique's grasp. His pulse jumps. Magneto cannot help the small sadistic smile. "Well now, we seem to be at odds." He says smoothly. The spear goes closer to the young man's neck. The tip tickles his flesh.

He gulps down a dry throat. Magneto has him scared – and he's enjoying the torture.

"What do you want?" It sounds weak, pathetic as his body trembles beside Mystique. His partner is still out. Briefly he wonders if the mutants will kill them. Mystique smiles and laughs at him.

"A fellow mutant. Have you heard of a man named Pyro?"

* * *

><p>The guard leads the way, Raven having changed into his baby face friend as they 'escort' Magneto to his holding cell. They aim to go left but instead turn right. A large detector is hiding above the doorframe as the guard lets the scanner screen his face, body and eyes. No doubt it has been updated to alert security to the presence of the mutated X gene mutants carry; Magento cannot help the sighed of disgust.<p>

The guard places his gun into the tray by the door and they wait a few seconds before it slides open.

He continues to lead them down a path of dark stairs, hidden behind the large metal door. There are no lights except for a faint blue glow at the end of the hall. Once they reach it the guard taps in four numbers, on a touch screen panel hidden behind a nook by the side; they are random though Mystique easily follows the clicks logically. She remembers in case they need to shut the door as a barricade.

Quickly it opens and sitting directly behind the door is Pyro, clothed in a white shirt and a pair of clean white pants. Blue lights bathe him as he sits motionless. The whole place is coated in a sweet smelling fluid and as they inch closer, Mystique changes into her humanoid shape, pale flesh replacing blue. Her face of shock is frightening in the darkened room.

Her hand reaches out toward her partner, and the tips of her fingers return blue. Magneto stays outside the field of range, keeping a tight hold on the guard at his side. Mystique moves closer to Pyro, feeling the cool breeze on her naked skin.

"I never expected anything easy in this place." His blue eyes find the guards and he growls, "You keep him incapacitated here, removing his powers, with this drug in the air. What is it?"

He only shakes, lips trembling. Magneto shoves him aside as Mystique looks to Pyro.

She has no time to worry about her situation, if she will remain human or have her gifts restored. She only needs to rescue Pyro. Carefully lifting him, she notices he is only faintly aware of his surroundings. His eyes are glossy, his lips barely more than two strips of blue.

Magneto turns to the guard in disgust. "What have you done to him?"

He's trembling but tries to hide it. Magneto finds it admirable and stupid. "We needed to sedate him in order to control him. It's a simple medication pumped into the air and distributed to him daily; it makes it hard for him to focus, and makes it harder to control fire, should there be any nearby. We couldn't take any chances."

Which, as Magneto feels his hands flex in revulsion, he knows is dangerous to Pyro. Not being able to sense fire, not being able to have the ability to control it, takes away his livelihood. It takes away his life force, his passion to be. It keeps him close to the brink of death. It was a small side effect of his mutant ability – though he could not create fire, he could tame it; and in essence he lived to feel fire. He lived through the flames.*

It was like cutting off oxygen, though slowly, to a suffocating man. It was too much for Magneto to allow.

"Idiot," he seethes and rips the metal door from its place. Loud squeals and crunching metallic resonate around them. Anger consumes him and he lets his logical mind control his powers, even if his emotions taint his reasoning. He wraps the metal around the guard, constricting it tightly so he cannot move, speak nor breathe. His face turns purple; his eyes roll back in his skull. It happens in a matter of a few seconds but before them as the guard suffocates to death. His lungs are crushed and beneath his floating feet is a small puddle of blood.

Just like what was slowly happening to John with the solution covering the walls, fire nonexistent, slowly draining him of his life force. The guard deserved much worse.

Strangely, Magneto feels better. He looks back at Mystique who has the boy slumped over her shoulders. He's dead weight, but they cannot leave him. He's powerful, and not crippled by the true _Cure_. He wasn't shot during their encounter; though he will need time to recuperate.

"Will it leave his system shortly? Will he be able to heal?"

She glances at him, picks Pyro up higher as if to determine his mobility. "I'm not sure. It's different than the others they've used on our kind. It blocks his powers and makes his mind a mess. Not to mention with his weakness, they've all but kept his source of life from him. I've never seen this happen before."

"It could be another _Cure_." He spits out the word like it is plague. To him, and his kind, it was. Using a spinoff of the true _Cure_, to tame them? It was blasphemy.

"Or it could be something new."

Sirens sound above them, red lights blinking into the blue darkened room. They each look at the light then each other before silently an agreement is made. They need to leave. Now. "I think our time here is through, my dear. Must have heard my little temper tantrum down here." It's a small joke, relieving the tension in the air.

"It would seem that way," Raven laughs and follows Magneto as he turns to the door. Carefully, and slowly her body begins to turn back to the beauty she is used to. They reach the top of the stairs and he pulls the door to him. Sweat beads roll down his face but he doesn't notice. His skills aren't nearly as perfect as they used to be – and this irritates him. He is still powerful, but easily tired.

His stamina isn't back just yet. Would it ever? He shakes his head – he wonders about the other mutants hit by the same serum and wonders if it is because of his age or the _Cure._ Erik doesn't think on it long as he focusing on his task ahead.

He molds the door into a platform, and the two mutants step on. Raven holds tight to Pyro as they float into the air, and rocket toward the ceiling. The sirens are louder, shouts above them stronger. They can hear footsteps crowding in around them. They cannot be caught, not here and not yet. They have too much to accomplish.

Magneto sighs and pushes himself. The speed increases, wind hitting them in the face with such force it staggers them. "Careful Erik," Raven warns but he doesn't pay her heed. His strain makes his head dizzy but he continues to push his strength.

The roof breaks away as they shoot through the tiles, out into the open air. The rich clean scent of winter drowns them as they fly away, toward state lines. Sirens drift behind them, shouts echoing and are after a few moments lost to the winds. He changes direction and pushes the platform further, hunching down to control it better.

They have matters to handle and the quicker they get away, the sooner they can get on with their plan.

Including helping a few old enemies defeat a common threat. He rolls his blue eyes; who would've thought that ever would have happened?

* * *

><p>Emma Frost stands outside the gates. They look golden, tarnished from age with old vines of ivy wrapping among them, sucking life out of the metal. She snorts as she cannot even begin to judge how much the gates cost. Not nearly as much as it should have. It was Xavier's house. The price should have been high enough to allow the gates some wear and tear without falling apart.<p>

She rings the doorbell on the brick beside the bars. She can see wires sticking out of the teleconference screen, and the distinct cut showcasing them is clean. She traces them, watches as the wires twist together at another point. Sighing she pushes against the bars, feeling them shift enough to open a few inches and allows her enough room to skid by. She does so, her long white trench coat sweeping along her thigh high boots.

Emma wants to curse at herself – she was being _ridiculously_ trustworthy. She came here to help a Professor, who according to Shaw would soon rather wipe her mind than deal with her and her tempered words, in order to save herself. And her family. And she did this, because she _trusted _the man.

Trust. She snorts again, the coldness biting into her legs. Emma didn't trust anyone. She played them, she manipulated them. She didn't trust – and not blindly like she was now.

But something about him was familiar. He almost gave her the vague sense of déjà vu. It was like he was there in a very distant dream and she had felt safe. Emma didn't know what that feeling meant – there it was once before. But that was the past.

And her sister Kayla had made her feel safe. She had been the only one who had cared enough to protect her and help her with her gifts. Emma almost wanted to shout out at the world, at herself, that Xavier gave her the same feeling of security. She wanted to laugh at the irony.

It was strange. Emma didn't feel often enough to encounter a feeling twice in her lifetime.

The wind hits her again. It is sharp, bitter and biting. She almost wishes she had a different alter ego, something with more covering for winter but she digresses. She is the White Queen. She's supposed to look like this. And it wasn't like she didn't have any say in what she wore. It had been her choice to wear only a short pair of spandex panties and tight corsets. Emma tended to like corsets.

Carefully she walks down the long driveway, feeling the wind brush back her long blonde hair. There isn't much snow on the ground, a strange occurrence since she was in upstate New York – snow was the norm around here, sometimes during spring and early summer. Moving a few more paces she stops right outside the door and wills her hands to stop shaking.

She was going against everything in her body by doing this. She was blindly trusting a man, who was supposed to be her enemy, and trusting not just him but his _students_. Who all thought he was dead. '_Even better,'_ she remarks mentally. Doesn't she get to be the bearer of good news or what?

And not only that, she had to recruit some kid into helping her bring the guy out of whatever coma induced daze he was in. Hell, she didn't even know what she was supposed to be doing. Xavier hadn't gone into much detail. In fact, he hadn't gone into _any. _It was just her luck to get into something bigger than she could handle.

But Emma would never admit to it. She was a fighter and a quick thinker. She could do this; and she _would_ do it.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she knocks on the hard wooden door. For all Charles' tastes and finances she expects the door to be of higher quality but it isn't. She knocks again, hears the padded sounds of someone walking to the door and holds her breath.

What is she supposed to say _now?_

* * *

><p>The room is hit by the bright rays of the afternoon sun; drifting over his full sized bed of a pale blue comforter and creamy white sheets as the thick fluffy clouds try to block the light. Special pieces of his life hang about the walls; a rosary and a small handmade cross are near his dresser, a picture of his adoptive parents rests over his headboard. There is an even smaller picture of himself as a young child, smiling with deadly fangs sitting on the nightstand, vibrant blue skin contrasting his parents' pale complexion.<p>

All this reminds him of a better life, a life in Germany with his adoptive parents within in the circus, quiet really except for a few bumps in the road; he was abnormal looking, so he expects it. He has those good memories, sometimes coupled with bad ones, but the picture in his hands is the one he stares at now. The one that shakes him to the bone.

It's frayed at the edges, torn and crumpled as if it had been in a wallet or purse for a long period of time. It smells of rich lilacs and ugly roses. He sees himself, wrapped into a small green blanket as if he wwere just born, with a woman in a long white birthing gown, long black hair and bright blue eyes. He swears he can see a shine of yellow in them, as if they're changing while the picture was being snapped.

It hits him hard noticing this. It hits him seeing her happy smile, though complacent, truly beaming from within from the childbirth. It hits him incredibly hard to the point that Kurt must sit on his bed, his three fingers clenching the picture tightly.

He knows the woman. He's met her, during his travels with the X-Men for the first time. The first moment when people saw him as more than a circus freak, or a demon; but a hero.

He almost laughs aloud that he never made the connection until she wrote to him after their combined fight. She was blue – he was blue. How did he not see it?

After their last encounter, she wrote him a letter. She wrote to him, explaining that she was indeed his mother. That she had never expected to meet him, face to face. She had never thought he would live the fall. That she had no choice but to give him up after the mob attacked. And that she had wanted to meet him.

He had abandoned his duty with the X-Men, who had saved him and proved his innocence with the President, in order to meet his lost mother. Something in him was compelled to know her, to understand why she had given him up. He remembers the way she looked – blue, scaled, yellow eyes like him with flaming red hair.

She had told him once during their first and only mission together that they shouldn't have to hide who they are – then why would she hide the fact she was his mother? But once he truly knew her, Kurt knew how brutal and horrific she was deep down. How unlike her, he truly was.

She is a mutant terrorist. She lives in order to serve Magneto, to 'free' mutants from suppression; she believes with violence, there will be tolerance. He was all but disgusted with whom he came from; its better believed he was a circus freak, than the son of _Mystique._

But what got him to stop and listen to her was what she told him. She begged him to listen. She played on his love and devotion to family; to family he never knew existed. He had a _sister_. He wasn't alone in this world like he had originally thought. She adopted a young girl, kept her from knowing Mystique's true identity in a way to raise her to be one of her mutant terrorists. Mystique had wanted to corrupt his sister, twisting her in to the vision Mystique had been given when she first knew of her birth.

She was foretold to come into her great gifts by another, which Mystique wouldn't disclose whom. Mystique had wanted all three of them to join with Magneto. She believes so fully in the man that even when he abandoned her when she was stuck with the Cure – she returned to him and begged for his love again after her powers reemerged.

Kurt had been so appalled that he teleported as far away as he could think. He couldn't take hearing her devotion to a mad man who had hurt not only Rogue but was indirectly a result of the chaos of Alcatraz. He was the true reason behind the deaths of Jean, Scott and the Professor; people Kurt fought with and learned to trust. How could she love him, follow him, and believe in his words so fully? His vision began the war they were in.

Kurt would never join a cause that hurt innocent people to make a stand as she has done. Never.

He told Ororo once that anger solved nothing. He truly believes that inside his heart. The only way to coexist was with peace and love and acceptance. He knows acceptance better than most; he knows Xavier had wanted the same. He knows with love, people will come to understand – but from violence? They will only know hatred.

Nightcrawler sighs as he looks once again at the picture she gave him. They had met days before the Alcatraz incident, days before when she would be turned into a human and shunned for it. He almost wanted to pity her for her foolishness but he knows that isn't the way of God. He was to forgive – but he couldn't find forgiveness for what she had planned for his _sister. _What she had wanted to do since the girl was born. She was nothing more than a lavish tool for Magneto, even in the womb.

He glances once more at the photo and tosses it on to his nightstand by the picture of his parents, the circus behind them as a backdrop. He wants to cry, to scream but he hides it. He knows this is a test, but for what?

Kurt wants to go to his sister, tell her what he knows, but he is afraid of her reaction. Everything she knows, what she believes in will mean nothing to her. And he doesn't want to be the one to take that falsity, that delusion of peace from her. She's had a tough life up until that moment, he has been there when her powers had been taken and then given back. He was there when she awoke in the middle of the night, terrors haunting her to the point of hysterically crying; memories from others wiped clean from the Cure, coming back to assault her.

She was so out of it, he highly doubts she remembers him holding her while she cries. When her sobs had resided, and her body stiff with sleep he had given up his spot to Wolverine. The man had barely batted an eyelash when Kurt had teleported into Rogue's room during her fit. He never thought long on why.

Kurt couldn't tell her that the woman who adopted her, put her into another family who abused and left her to rot after her powers evolved, was because she wanted to use her, twist her simple mind set into something darker. Kurt breathes a prayer to his God above, thankful that Xavier and the X-Men were able to interrupt when they did. Who knows how Rogue would have turned out if she had stayed the way Mystique intended?

But he can't bring himself to tell Rogue the truth. He wants to – he wants her to know she shouldn't be afraid. He wants her to know she does have family, people who care about her. He can see the way Logan feels for her, like the connection they have is deeper than blood. But he wants to be a part of that, if not for Rogue's stability, but for himself.

He has a sister. His parents are dead, his circus a lost memory. Rogue is his family now. It makes his heart swell and twist in pain. They were both so alike; they both hid who they were out of fear of people's reactions. He wants to embrace her and tell her it is okay to be the way they are. Though he admits, he has wanted to blend into the background like everyone else, he wants more for her. He doesn't want her to be afraid of life – he wants her to _embrace_ it.

Slowly he moves from his bed, adjusting his green stripped button down to fit correctly. He shakes out his pants, his tail curling behind him. He wants to still disappear into the shadows, and has only recently found out he could, but he wants to shed that skin from his life. He wants to be the big brother Rogue needs, the shoulder to carry her, to rest her weary head when life is tough and the one to help her stand. He is family.

He has always wanted siblings. Now that he had one, he didn't know if he should be the one to tell; that her lot in life was nothing more than a plan from the beginning. How would she react knowing Mystique was her mother? How would she come to terms that in the beginning of her life, no one was there to care, when there should have been?

Well he is now. He will be there to protect her. He has to tell her soon; if not for his own conscious but to make Rogue come to terms with things as soon as possible. If he waited longer, who knows what his _mother_ would try and pull over her?

Carefully he shuffles through the hallway, leaving his bedroom. His thoughts consume him, drowning him in agony and hope over his indecision. He hears a short laugh and glances to his left. He sees Gambit, with two younger girls laughing at one of his card tricks. They float into the air, magenta electricity connecting them by a strong pull.

Kurt feels his eyes narrow. He knows Storm is good friends with the drifter, but he doesn't trust his intentions with Rogue. The girl was special, fragile. He didn't want Gambit to break anything he shouldn't.

Especially now that she had broken her relationship with Bobby out of fear of being hurt. She said she did it for him, to give him a life with someone else, but Kurt knows the truth. She is as much frightened by control as she desperately wants it. And if Gambit knows of her insecurities, he is almost certain he will pounce. And then where will his little sister be?

He moves on, laughing at the remembered shock on his face when Kurt indirectly threatened him the night prior. He feels guilty but proud. He is making sure Gambit knew who Rogue had there to watch her back. He didn't just have the ferocious Logan there to break his legs, but Kurt would be more than happy to teleport him into another dimension and leave him there if he made Rogue cry.

He would too. Brothers did things like that for their sisters.

Kurt comes to the end of the stairs, looking both ways to detect if he could find Ororo or Hank. He wants to know how the campaign was coming along or if there were new developments in anti-mutant mobs. He could always use a mission to clear his mind; it was better to help others, than oneself. And his indecision over Rogue and their future weighs on his mind. He needs something to clear it – to make him see straight.

A knock sounds in front of him on the large mahogany doors. He hunches low to the ground out of habit, and immediately slaps his forehead as he thinks back to his conversation with Gambit outside the kitchen the night before. Old habits are hard to break; he hadn't been lying when he confessed to Gambit as much the same thing.

Another knock echoes and the doorbell rings. He slowly shuffles forward, hiding his tail as best he could in the bright afternoon light from the front windows. He's nervous to answer, should he really be the face of a newcomer to the X-Men mansion and school? He doesn't look too accommodating.

Sighing once for strength, Kurt shifts open the door, the bright sun catching his sensitive eyes and the breath of cold air whipping him in the face. He peaks one eye open, ready to teleport if the person is too afraid to look at him when a woman shrieks.

His ears twitch.

"Eck! Blue really?" She gripes, and Kurt opens his other eye. His mouth drops open.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean really, you couldn't pick a better color? Green is last year but blue is like _two_ years ago." She rushes forward, yanking the door from his hands. "It's horribly cold out, and you don't even ask a woman into your home? Didn't your mother teach you proper etiquette?"

The mentioning of his 'mother' has him step back in a daze. The young woman, not much older than him in her late twenties shakes the few flurries brave enough to fall outside. Storm has been doing a great job keeping the snow away from their area – if not for the very reason she couldn't stand the cold.

He takes in her ice eyes, her white blonde hair and long legs. Her coat is dropped from her arms; a long sweeping cape billows out behind her, stark white like her trench coat. Kurt glances once to the front of her, and looks away, blushing in embarrassment. Her corset is tight, the top of her chest is pushing against the restraints and her bottoms are little more than two pieces of fabric. He feels obligated to hand her his shirt.

"What?" She snaps, and Kurt jumps. His tail dusts against the floor and he can see the way her eyes trail it.

"I'm sorry, how can we help you here Miss…?" He stalls, ignoring his flaming cheeks. He wants to teleport away but stands his ground. The woman moves, the cape falls further behind and he can see the silver rings on her arms that glisten in the waning light.

He vaguely notices that the days have been getting shorter as subconsciously he checks her out again. She taps her foot, crossing her arms in annoyance as Kurt looks back over at her face.

Once she has his attention her scowl lessens. "My name is Emma Frost. I am here to see your Head Mistress; I believe her name is Ororo Munroe?" Kurt nods, feeling completely ashamed at the way he is leering at the young woman. "We have important issues to speak of. Fetch her." She waves her hand but Kurt cocks an eyebrow.

"What?" He asks as he hears approaching footsteps above him. He turns to see Logan, walking casually down the stairs, his biker boots clunking along. He can see the leather jacket over his shoulder; he knows Logan is heading out for a quick drive. He didn't blame the man now that he knew his whole past.

Kurt empathizes with the man; memories that prove half truths are taunting him.

What Kurt doesn't understand is the way Logan slows to a halt half way down, his free hand releasing his claws. Kurt was almost thankful he could have back up from his old ally but the dark look that passes over his face stops him. Logan sniffs deeply and Kurt turns to see the woman Emma clench her fists. Within seconds her pale skin turns bright sparkling metallic, almost crystallized and her blue eyes narrow into a terrorizing hatred.

"You," she whispers, seething with instant rage. Logan growls in response.

Kurt has no choice but to stand in front of the woman, holding his hands up in a peaceful manner. He can feel the emotions in the air but he must stop it. Fighting wasn't the answer. Her eyes never leave Logan as Kurt says, "I see you know Logan, a _friend_ of ours'." He stresses it, reminding her of where she is. She is on Logan's territory. She has to be careful of where she steps.

But her eyes turn black. She doesn't care.

"Do I know you?" Logan asks and the woman gets angrier. Her skin hardens and light bounces off of it in dazzling patterns across the wooden walls. Kurt is mesmerized momentarily as she responds.

"No. You knew my sister." She steps forward, her heel clicking smartly. Or was that her nails clinking against her diamond skin? "God help you if you say you don't know her either."

A pause. Logan takes out a cigar, biting into the end. "I don't." he retorts and Kurt bites the inside of his cheek. He turns in what feels like slow motion to stop Emma from attacking but her fist slams into his shoulder during her attempt to grab Logan. He falls to the ground where another hit bashes him in the skull. All he sees before he is hit again is Logan rushing from the stairs, and the young woman grabbing him by his neck before tossing him into the hallway by the kitchen. He looks like a small rag doll.

After that, Kurt blacks out, slumping against the wooden banister of the stairwell.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Phew! A lot covered here. Trust me all this extra stuff is coming together. Next chapter will be a lot of interaction and drama. What do you guys think? Anything more we want to see of (besides the ROMY... because trust me it's coming!). And I'm pretty sure I'm sticking with Kurt/Ororo interaction, but I'm not sure if it'll be too heavy. There might be traces. Gotta leave the romance open for the Remy/Rogue..

"**It takes away his life force, his passion to be. It keeps him close to the brink of death. It was a small side effect of his mutant ability – though he could not create fire, he could tame it; and in essence he lived to feel fire. He lived through the flames."*:** I completely made this up. Don't sue me. I have no clue if Pyro needs fire to live – but in a warped way, it fits in here. And if someone wants to look deeper, if I'm anywhere near the truth or completely off, be my guest. This was only put in so as to find a reason why a super secretive, super heavily armed army base was able to hold a man that controlled fire and who (in the movies) was considered to be such a threat. I needed a catalyst. Do with it what you will.

Drop me line! Thanks for reading!

_Peace_


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

**AN:** First off: You guys are incredible! Thank you so much for kind words and awesome input! You make me excited to post here. And you guys made me feel all warm and fuzzy with your concern due to the Hurricane Irene. It's nice to know those of you that care and let others know; it's great! And just to let everyone know, me and mine are fine, and hopefully we'll have a few breaks before the abominable snowstorms of the Northeast hits us ;o)

Secondly: Yes, I've been away. I'm jumping from like three different fan-doms. Weird, I know. But you go where the inspiration lies. Sorry for the delay. I hope this makes up for it.

Thirdly: I'm beginning a new blog. It's not up yet; it should be up this week or so. What will it be about? Not sure. I think I might use it to post random bits of writings, log in about what I've been up to, some cooking excerpts (I like to cook/ bake so I might make something of that). Above all, it'll be a place for my fans to stalk me – I'm not judging, I do the same ;o). Information will be in my profile, so check it out and stop on by!

Fourthly: For those that follow me in other realms, shameless plug in; I'm writing a continuation of a story done in _Avatar: The Last Airbender_, from the lovely authoress Damagectrl, titled _"Under the Sapphire Sky."_ My tentative title is _"When the Crimson Sun Rises,"_ and takes place right after the ending of Damagectrl's story. With her permission, she's given me free rein to play with her world and make it into something else. It's not up yet, but I've been playing around with the story, some notes and ideas. Just to give everyone a head's up; (in case you see me disappear for a bit!) I'm just working on another (large) project, though I'm always around. I'll let you know when I post it.

And last but not least: The continuation! Romy-scented, but not heavy on it; after this chapter that starts to take off. I'm excited for it (though a bit nervous – I haven't written either of them in a Romy sense for quite some time; I hope I do them justice!).

**AN2:** I apologize now for any grammar issues, or spelling mistakes or whatever. I've been looking and writing this for a month. I can't do it anymore. I simply can't look at it any longer. So take the errors in stride and remember I posted this for you guys ;o).

On that note, enjoy and drop me a few words.

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><p><em>"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth." - Buddha<em>

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><p>Chapter 9<p>

Rogue sits by the hospital bed, the bright white light stinging her sensitive eyes as she holds Kurt's hand tightly. She can see the rise and fall of his chest, the breaths shallow and the twitching of his long tail in his slumber. She counts during each fall, pressing her fingers beside his pulse almost absentmindedly as she checks his life force. It settles her only slightly.

Because of his blue skin it is hard to see either the two black eyes that he sports or the scrapes and bruises over his left arm and left side of his face. Crusted dry blood still sits around his nose and spilt lip. She sighs and grips harder, her leather gloves rough against his soft hands. She wants to will her strength into healing him – that would have been a great power – but instead of healing, she takes.

She studies his hands as her mood worsens; now is not the time to feel sorry for herself. Now is the time for Kurt. Kurt wasn't a laborer. His palms are smooth, unmarked except for the tattoos he craved into himself as a sign of faith. She absently traces one in thought before someone knocks on the door behind her. She jumps.

Turning, Ororo walks into the room, wrapping her lean arms around her slender middle. Rogue notices the pale yellow shirt, and pink and yellow stripped sleep pants. She glances once at herself, seeing her green lounge pants with mistletoe and her green long sleeved shirt. They both couldn't sleep it seems.

"Hello Rogue," 'Ro greets calmly, her brown eyes rimmed in redness. Rogue can see the tear tracks, either from Kurt's situation or from the nightmare that awoke her. She doesn't have to tell Rogue she had one, Rogue just knows.

Just like she had one that prompted her to visit Kurt. The fight had been nasty; there were dings, marks, broken pictures littered throughout the mansion's first floor. Vases that were irreplaceable sat in the corners in pieces. Heirlooms of the Professors were now missing or in the trash. It had taken all three men Piotr, Warren and Bobby to separate Logan and the woman. Bobby had a huge gash running along his jaw from where she hit him when he dragged her away; her skin when crystallized was like pure straight diamond to flesh. The man would have to get three stitches.

He had been taken right away to Dr. McCoy after they threw the woman into a spare room, but Remy had taken Kurt almost without thought to the med ward while they had wrangled her. Logan and Emma had been permanently separated – Logan had been lectured by Storm that could be heard even into the lowest levels of the mansion, and Emma Frost, The White Queen she claimed was in lock down in a spare bedroom.

Rogue glances at the clock – 2:33AM. Piotr was still guarding her in his metallic form. They were hoping it was strong enough to combat her diamond skin if she tries to break out.

"Hey 'Ro." She looks at the older woman and smiles sweetly. "You look bad."

"Thank you," she laughs. Silently she takes the seat on the other side of Kurt's bed and Rogue can tell the sadness in her eyes is over Kurt and not a dream. Rogue becomes more disappointed. "Has he changed at all?"

"He ain't shiftin' much in his sleep anymore." She shrugs and squeezes his hand one more time. Ororo looks at it and snorts to herself. "Ah'd say he's just sleeping off the sneak attack. Do we know why he was caught in the crossfire?"

"Logan says Emma had eyes only for him. Kurt was unfortunately caught in the middle during his attempt to intervene."

"The pacifist, true and true." Rogue comments and Storm agrees.

"Do we know why she's here? Or why she attacked Logan?"

Storm is quiet, thoughtful before she answers. She almost hesitates before she says, "Logan knows her from his past. They have a turbulent history it seems. One that Logan cannot remember right now."

"Can't or won't?" Her voice is biting. She knows Logan is hurting, his mind is in shambles and he's angry at himself. At forgetting. At loving and not remembering. Of letting someone take his memories from him. His pride is what will get him killed some day – but Rogue is mad at him. Her protectiveness over Kurt is unfounded but she knows Logan can answer their questions if he just wanted to remember. She blames him for what happened to Kurt – unfounded again – but still she does.

She just wants Kurt to wake up. To find out what Emma's deal was. And to make Storm stop crying like everything was her fault. Rogue can see the stress on her shoulders. She knows the weather witch blames herself. And Rogue wants to end it. Her dull green eyes turn bright in the medical wing.

"Let me see her," Rogue demands as she stands. She doesn't release Kurt's hand. She can't explain why, but she knows there's a deeper reason she feels the need to comfort him. Like she was repaying an act of goodness from him. Like she trusted the man who had rescued her on their one and only mission together. Like they had a bond of some sort.

Which was strange. Rogue only had a bond with Logan and he was pissing her off that night, and she blamed him for Kurt's unconscious form and bruises. It could be because he saved her then helped her when the memories were too much in the rec room. She never did confront Logan about knowing a younger Scott either.

Ororo sighs silently as she watches Rogue chew her bottom lip. She watches Rogue who is tired and clearly can't think straight. But she doesn't back down when Storm shakes her head at her outburst. Her kind brown eyes are hard with worry.

"No. I won't allow it."

"Why not? Ah know what Logan knows. His memories are mine. Ah am not afraid to know. Ah can find out who she is, why she's here maybe. If Ah flash on something, all the better."

"Rogue," Ororo stresses, but Rogue shakes her head. She's stubborn and 'Ro is hard pressed not to smile at the young woman. She was coming into her own beautifully. Her heart swells in pride even if her mind clouds in worry.

"No, Ah know what Ah'm doing. Ah can figure this out."

"And what happens when the memories are too much for you to handle?" She stands, and the windows shake with thunder. Rogue's hit a nerve with Storm but she can feel her heels dig into the ground like a southern mule. She likes to think its Logan's essence filling her, but she knows it's her. She is a stubborn woman. She always has been.

"Rogue, you don't know what this will do to you." Concern pulls her small mouth into a frown. Her eyes are white. "It could hurt you, it could kill you. Training with Hank is one thing, but this is another. Your powers are unpredictable. We don't even know if you could absorb her, or if your powers would react at all. I won't risk you to find something out that we could get by easier means. You're powers are too unstable for me to risk my student."

Rogue rubs her eyes and squeezes Kurt's hand for confidence. "How 'Ro?" She clears her throat. "No offense, we ain't got much in the way of mental power. Jean's gone, Professor is gone. Betsy ain't strong enough. Logan ain't talking. He won't try and remember, you and Ah both know that. Whatever is going on in his mind, he's dealing with and doesn't want to be pushed before he's ready. Ah'm the next best thing." She slides off one glove, ignoring the hurt in Ororo's eyes. She hits another button that neither of them has fully healed from just yet. They still missed their friends. "Just one touch. Ya can bring Logan in with you for muscle, but Ah'm sure that would just cause problems. Ah can do this."

Ororo sighs, biting her lip. They both want to know what the deal is with Emma and Logan. They both want to help, they both want to know if the school is at risk from their past relations. Logan wasn't exactly forthcoming when Ororo chastised him for his destruction of the upper levels. Rogue is right about that – Logan wouldn't be talking too soon to either of them. Until he could get out of his head; which Ro didn't know when that would be.

Ororo rolls her eyes skyward, asking for her Goddess' help. They need answers. They have to know. They want to know if Emma is a threat or not. Ororo would not risk her students because she's blinded by worry. And as much as 'Ro didn't want to, she has to agree with Rogue.

They don't have anyone else that can read minds. They just don't. Betsy Braddock was their closest to another telepath but even with her limited skills, she wouldn't provide any information. It pains Ororo but she knows Rogue's the only way they'll get information without pulling teeth from Logan. And Emma's intentions will be bare to Rogue. Her thoughts, her memories. Everything will be there for them to ingest.

Ororo still doesn't like risking her student though. But she has to remember. Rogue was an X-Man now. She was not just a student anymore. She had seen more in her short life than Ororo probably has. And she was strong. She was beyond capable. And she was determined to help. 'Ro mentally weights the pros and cons before coming to a decision.

She also silently suspects this is Rogue's way to prove she is useful to the team; she never had to prove it with them. Storm always knew Rogue was validated in her position among them, even when she took the Cure. It was one reason why Ororo never held her decision against her.

Rubbing her nose, Storm nods once. "We'll do it your way. But I will be there. I just need to grab one person first and we'll meet you outside the room." She narrows her eyes. "Do not engage until we arrive. Understand Rogue? I mean it."

"Peachy keen 'Ro," and she smiles as she pats Kurt's hand in comfort. "Ah'll be good. Promise."

* * *

><p>Rogue stands outside the large oak door, the brass handle worn with age. Behind it stands Piotr who watches guard over The White Queen. She knows she told Storm she would stay outside and wait for her with whoever she was getting. But she can't wait. She wants to see the woman. She wants to know. Her fingers itch in nervous energy. She needs to know everything.<p>

Not for Logan's sanity, or Ororo's worry over the team and their safety, but for her own stability. She, like Logan has thoughts drifting to her. She sees things. Feels them. And although Logan sees them in his mind, he cannot control the way they attack him. She too is slammed with images, voices, thoughts and worse, emotions that she should be able to compartmentalize in her mind.

It doesn't always work as she now knows, especially when the memories of someone are so strong like they are now, and they break free from time to time, but she can hold them back for most of her days. The Professor taught her that. And to this day she knows having the large box with the ancient key is the only reason she has not lost to her mind like Logan is slowly allowing to happen. She hasn't seen him since his fight with Storm. And his bike is missing. Hopefully he was getting his crap together.

Rogue is honorable for her reasoning – safety, mental stability, helping a friend. But she is also curious. She wants to know what is going on as much as Logan does. And she's brave enough to find out whereas Logan has been running from his past; mad at himself for forgetting. She knows she can do this – she knows she can be the one to fix the whole mess.

Her mother always used to say Rogue cared too much about others. Maybe that was why it made her such a great X-Man? Finding answers when others wouldn't? She snorts. Or she was just a dumb girl with a death wish. Mama used to say that about her too.

She knocks once on the door. Piotr opens it slowly, his gleaming metal face emotionless. Rogue's stomach churns with bile but she puts on her best face, hip cocked. She nods once to him as a greeting.

"Storm and Ah are here to question the White Queen. Ah need you to open up Petey." She sees the way he wrestles with her words. Was she lying? Could he tell? But after a moment's pause he pulls back, letting her inside.

"Where is Storm?"

"Getting someone else," Rogue says flippantly. Piotr stands back at the door as it closes and Rogue gives him the eye to leave. He doesn't until she sighs, nose twitching with impatience. He's seen that look. He's worked with her enough to know she means business. That she wants him out. He doesn't know if it is a good idea but he does as commanded. He leaves.

Rogue takes in the spare bedroom as the lock clicks while Piotr stands outside.

And it was just that; spare. It had one lone hanging lamp that barely gave enough light into the small room, a bed across the way that didn't hold a pillow or sheets, but a bare mattress. The woman in question sat properly against the far wall, her legs crossed cleanly. Her white corset looked ready to explode, her blonde hair was platinum and the thigh high boots were tight and pointed.

Rogue was almost betting her hair was a dye job. The brightness of it was too fake to be considered real.

"It's natural, thank you dear." Emma says across the way, uncrossing, and then crossing her legs again. Her outfit leaves nothing to the imagination and Rogue feels alarmed at all the skin. She would never be comfortable in something like that. It makes her uncomfortable just to stand there – if she wasn't there to drain her of information to begin with. Skin was good for her right now.

Then it hits her. Her dull green eyes narrow, alit by hot white fire. "Git out of my head." Privacy is something Rogue craves and reveres. She doesn't like it when people enter her mind without her consent.

But then she's also learned another of Emma's talent. She's telepathic. With diamond skin that can rip through human skin without thought and the ability to read any and all thoughts she is a formidable enemy. Her gloved hands begin to itch. Emma was more of a mutant than they thought. What else can she do that they didn't know about?

"Apologies." She bows her head, a small smirk on her face. "But you'd have to be a brain dead psychic not to hear your thoughts darling. You project. Anyone can hear."

"Well don't listen." Her eyes are fiery and Emma smiles. The girl has brass, she'd give her that. And she likes that about strong women.

She hated women who couldn't speak for themselves, or who couldn't handle their own. This young girl looks like she could do both. And Emma is impressed. The school looks barely capable of supplying such a strong woman.

"As you wish," she sounds like high society and the bitter cold winter wind. Rogue shivers in spite of her aggravation. Something about her is dark, twisted. She holds more back than she would like to, Rogue can see. Emma has more baggage than most. "But why may I ask is there some child talking to me at three in the morning? Shouldn't you be in bed?" Emma can't help but dig just a bit. It is what she is good at after all.

Rogue narrows her eyes. The woman has nerve; she is only five years her senior at the most. Placing her hands on her Christmas covered hips, Rogue puckers her lips as if tasting something sour. "Ah am not a child. Ah'm here to speak t'you about why you came into the Institute and attacked our mentors."

"Your mentors?" she scoffs. Emma stands then, her height not much more than Rogue even in the heels. She's slender, proper and beautiful in the dim light and Rogue feels completely unprepared and inadequate. "I came here to help out a mutual acquaintance. It isn't my fault you let animals,-"she spits out the word like it is the plague, "-roam your halls. He should be locked away for what he's done. Or shot."

The venom in which Emma speaks has Rogue baffled and speechless. She doesn't realize until her thoughts come back to her, that her gloves have dropped to the ground in a soft pat. Her protectiveness of Logan roars to life. Maybe having Piotr outside the door was not such a good idea. They need a mediator. And where was Storm?

"Why do you hate him so much?" She alludes to the fact that it is Logan she speaks about. She might be mad at him for wimping out on his memories, but she could never hate him. He saved her. He cared about her. He was family. And he was the best of them. Logan was the_ best_ of them, and he was the only person who ever _defended _Rogue when she needed help. He did more for them than even Scott had in all his years a part of the Institute.

Logan was family. And he would piss her off, hurt her, help her and was _good_. How dare Emma say what she did? "He's done nothing wrong. You have no right to say those things."

"I have no right?" Her ice blue eyes kindle and Rogue steps back out of fear. Emma looks positively possessed. "That man killed the only thing dear to me. And you sit here and praise him like a God. You're pathetic." Then she smiles, a twisted and cruel thing that gives Rogue the creeps. She can see the darkness inside Emma through her smile. It doesn't warm her. "Don't believe so highly in someone you barely know dear. You wouldn't like the_ real_ him."

"Ah don't need to know his past," Rogue defends. She knows some from the few memories she gets to experience, but not all. But in order to know Logan? She already knows him. He took care of her when she thought everyone was against her. When she ran, he followed. When she took the Cure, he believed in her. He was _family._ The X-Men were family, and just because he had a bad past did not make him evil. "Ah know Logan. Ah know what he's capable of. He's a good man. With a good heart. And whatever you think he did, ain't meaning he did it."

Emma snorts as the door behind Rogue softly opens. She hears the click of heels and a rush of a cape. Storm in battle attire enters and Rogue is at once relieved and cowed; then heavy steps sound from behind her. She turns to look over her shoulder, Storm's tall form only silhouetted by another taller, broader man. Red on black eyes find her in the shadowed room and Rogue's nerves turn on edge. Remy LeBeau is behind her, his bo staff over his shoulder, his auburn locks pulled back.

The trench coat is the same from his first night when he arrived. The body suit is new – a deep violet covering over his chest and tight black pants for movement. Fingerless gloves that only hide his forefinger and ring finger. He smirks and Rogue blushes absentmindedly.

"You!" Emma shouts, finger rising in the air. Remy rolls his eyes and Storm and Rogue look at each other.

"You brought me down here to talk to that?" He snorts loudly. "There ain't no way I can handle her. She one crazy femme." He makes small circles around his temples while Storm's eyebrow rises.

"You sold me out!" Emma yells. Her hands turn diamond, her nails long and pointed. They glint and Rogue gulps. Gambit barely bats an eyelash as Rogue steps away out of fear. "I gave you your money and you turn on me! You idiotic son of a-"

"Calm down!" Storm shouts over Emma's shrieks as her hands fend off The White Queen. Her whole body is just about covered in her organic hard skin as the last of her forehead changes. She looks like a beautifully pissed off marble statue. "Gambit, to what is she referring to?" They look at the man, as the bo staff is twirled in his hands, over his knuckles, above his head. Anything to keep from answering right away. To think of a lie that wasn't quite a lie. Strom narrows her eyes and the twirling stops.

"She hired me f'r a job," he shrugs like it is of no concern. As Storm's eyes turn opaque, he scratches the back of head in embarrassment.

"A job?"

"A few nights back Stormy. Don't get so upset-"

"I told you about your jobs, Gambit! I cannot believe-"

"Stormy, it's not like it seems-"

"You indignant, outrageous creep! I can't tell whose worse – you or that animal! I told you to get the item and-"

A loud whistle sounds as Rogue's fingers leave her rosebud mouth. The three older adults look at her, faces hard with anger and flush with impatience. "Quiet!" She shouts, eyes wide in alarm. When had she become the voice of reason? This was Storm's job.

"Now," she runs a bare hand through her hair. She's sweating from the heat in the room, of how small it is and all the bodies so close together. And she's nervous. Really nervous. She palms are slick with sweat. She doesn't feel as confident as she had in the med ward. "Let me do what Ah came in here for." Like a rattle snake, she whips out her arm, two pale fingers brushing Emma's arm and lightning strikes her. Ororo shouts out as they touch skin to diamond skin, but her voice is covered by the string of shrieks coming from Rogue's target.

Emma screams in pain, falling to her knees in a puddle of white as Rogue is forcefully thrown across the room, back slamming into the cream plastered wall. She shouts out in hurtful pain, tears springing to her eyes as the images take her in a tidal wave of emotions and thoughts not her own. She sees Gambit smile in the darkened room, eyes sparkling with mischief. The laughing of a cruel man with a black ponytail. Those two kind brown eyes that Logan's psyche yearns to hold. And the compassionate, understanding face of Charles Xavier that has Rogue mentally sobbing with grief.

Within seconds Rogue sees all she can handle even if mentally she feels a decade older. Her mind is jolted and closes down as Rogue starts to pass out. The last thing she sees is Gambit's concerned face hovering over her, two covered fingers brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. Then sweet cool darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Poor Rogue. Poor Emma; I imagine Rogue's super amped and highly uncontrollable powers due to the Cure are painful to anyone she touches now, more so than normal. It's a wonder Hank trains with her; but maybe that's why they work together hm? Maybe he can stomach it? Can others?

So what do we think so far? Do we like the way this is heading? Any thoughts/ suggestions are well received, as always.

Peace


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**AN:** Sorry for the delay. Life threw me yet another curveball. It's a complicated tale of a long term relatiosnhip ending and two people growing up and perhaps without each other. I won't bore you with the details. Enjoy!

Chapter 10

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><p><em>"The measure of a man's real character is what he would do if he knew he never would be found out." -Thomas Babington Macaulay<em>

* * *

><p>Gambit is sitting on the spare chair of the room, the stark white walls uncomfortably bright to his sensitive eyes. His trench coat is hanging over the back of his chair, his gloves are on the ground and he doesn't quite remember where he put his bo-staff. But he doesn't care. He just stares at the young woman lying soundlessly in the hospital bed.<p>

He watches her chest rise and then flutters back down. He doesn't know how long he had been there, but he feels the awareness that sun has risen and the mansion is slowly coming fully awake. At least the younger students shuffle above, those left for the holiday break which is not many; those remaining do not have families to go home to. The X-Men core members though have been up since the night prior.

He can feel someone behind him; their eyes catch his back and don't let go. Looking over his shoulder tiredly, he sees Kurt's blue form hobble into the med lab, his bed skirt replaced with loose cargos and a simple white shirt. Hank is in the other room, the window separating him and his chemicals from their sleeping guest. He barely glances at them before returning to more tests.

"How is she?" He whispers, glowing yellow eyes wavering in weariness. Remy can feel the anxiety hover around the elf as he looks on at Rogue, to the way he grips to the door to settle himself because his mind is still not completely healed. He's tired, drained but determined. The crusted blood is gone and he looks to have taken a shower since his time in the room down the hall.

"Still out. Sleepin' fitfully now." Remy stands, his joints creaking as he goes. He kicks the chair over to Kurt as he points. "_Assez-vous_ before you fall over. We don't need t'be givin' Hank anymore heart attacks today."

Kurt smiles gratefully as he lowers himself. He looks relieved as he inches closer to Rogue's bed. He wants to grab for her hand but he holds back. Remy sees this. He sees the way he wrestles with something big on his mind. He sees the way he bites his cheek from saying anything too loudly to wake Rogue. He sees it all.

And it isn't the first time he wonders about their relationship. About her relationship with a few of the men around here. Colossus. Logan. Nightcrawler.

Remy leans against the wall, spotting the staff under the bed. He doesn't remember how it got there but in his haze of struggling with a diamonded Rogue into the med lab, he thinks it admirable he brought it at all. Carefully he rests his drooping shoulders on the wall and Rogue still remains unchanged.

He hears mumbles and looks up at Kurt across the way, a makeshift rosary in his three fingered hand, and blue lips muttering a quick prayer of healing. Remy smirks. Kurt was either incredibly religious – which he gathers he is by the quick scan of his bedroom that night he threatened him. He doesn't need to know he was scouting – or he cares greatly for the younger girl. His curiosity gets the better of him and before he can control his mouth, words are spurring.

"What you and the girl got goin' on elf?" Remy asks, arms crossed loosely. He doesn't want to seem menacing or threatening. Something in him says he doesn't have to worry about Kurt and the young woman Rogue. Not like it would matter to Remy if they did – Remy has swoon many women over the years – but he'd like to think Rogue was fair game. That she didn't fancy anyone else. That she was available for him. If he was interested that is.

He won't admit to it too loudly. Storm could read him. And she already warned him about her. Apparently everyone worried about the girl, and was extremely protective. But he couldn't help the attraction. She was forbidden fruit and he was feeling tempting enough to try _Lady Luck_ out. But he winces. He could just see the disappointment roll in Storm's eyes at the thought of looking at Rogue the wrong way. And it curbs him, only slightly.

"We have nothing like that," Kurt sighs. He doesn't look at Remy but his aura just screams uncertainty. Now Remy feels compelled to ask.

"You seem close?"

Kurt shrugs, wincing as he goes. His head has a nasty bump on the back and it still makes him spin if he moves too fast. "We work together. We've been on a mission together once in which I saved her life. We are friends."

Remy snorts. "Nah, not just friends." He leans over Rogue's bed, instantly smelling her sandalwood and jasmine perfume even under the harsh medical chemicals that clean the room. Kurt tenses as Remy whispers: "You're not in love wit' de girl. But you love her. Family?" He's seen the look enough. It was on his face when his brother was killed in a 'peace treaty'. It was mirrored on his face when Etienne was drowning and he was stuck rooted and couldn't save him.

The way Belle looked at Julian's corpse… _Dieu._

Kurt and Rogue are close. Related. But he could also see that Rogue didn't know. If she did, he was betting she wouldn't act as alone, or as distant as she did.

"_Ja_, we are brother and sister." _Jackpot._ "But I have not told her this yet." His kind eyes find Remy's burning gaze. He's nervous. Frightened. What was he hiding? "I am afraid to tell her."

"Why?" Remy asks incredulously. The girl was in poor shape, and with a power that Strom just explained to him while he was rushing to the med lab; the more people in her corner the better. "Girl needs a family _homme._ Everyone needs someone that they think as family. Blood or not. Everyone."

He stresses his words as Kurt nods. Kurt notices him in a new light, a small smile on his face even if he seems much smaller in the chair. A kinship blooms inside his chest. "Even you then, I am assuming. But it isn't as simple."

Remy snorts. "It rarely is wit' de family. Rogue doesn't know you're related. Why hide it?" And how could you? Growing up with a furry man as an older brother was hard to forget.

Unless… Remy peers closer at the man, arms shaking with the strain of holding himself on the bed. He's as tired as Kurt looks but he won't leave Rogue's side until he knows she's alright. Storm gave him a look when he refused to budge for a few winks of shut eye, but she knows him; he's honorable, even if his choices in life have been shifty. He'd make sure the girl was safe before he took care of himself; he's done it before for Ororo.

Call him a gentleman. Most people didn't.

Remy licks his lips as the thought comes to him. The elf and Rogue were adopted. Like he was into his family. Taken in, forced apart before memories formed?

"Our… _mother_," Kurt spits out. It is the first time Remy has ever seen the elf say anything with so much hate that he is startled into standing. He's never going to want to be on the end of that wrath. Kurt looks like a possessed demon. "She gave birth to me and then cast me out for my deformities." He holds up a hand, looking at it like it is the first time he sees such a thing. Remy winces in sympathy. "I did not fit into her plans. I had a good home though within the Munich circus." He smiles fondly. "Yet she adopted Rogue because she knew somehow, of what Rogue would become. The gifts she would acquire."

"Some gift," Remy rolls his eyes. It is a curse to be sure. He couldn't imagine being stuck in a body that couldn't feel another's skin without sucking down thoughts like a thirsty plant sucking down water in the Sahara.

Kurt's eyes turn hard. Remy feels a tick in his jaw but remains relaxed. "We are all given obstacles in life because _He_ decides who is strong enough to handle them." Kurt looks back at his sister, reaching for her hand finally, using the bed sheet as a covering. He watches her mouth quirk before sleep reclaims her and he feels calmed. Oddly he is comforted that he is helping her in the dreams that take her now. "Rogue is strong. But she is fragile. Whereas I had a good life, Rogue's was nothing but hardship because our… _mother_ made it that way. She wanted to twist her. Make her one for her terrorist group. Make her hate.

"And I am not sure if I should tell her this. If I should ever tell her the things that happened to her were not because of Divine Will but of an antagonistic woman with deeper plans of hatred and abuse. I am not sure how Rogue will respond to such travesties."

Leaning back against the wall, Remy breathes deeply. Kurt shifts, tail twitching behind him and Remy wants to laugh. It was odd, seeing him as a martyr yet as a demon. An enemy, then friend. Kurt was a body of contradictions – Remy shakes his head. He was sure as hell too tired for thoughts but he pushes onward.

"Why you be telling me this Kurt? I ain't exactly an upstanding individual to offer sympathy or a kind word. I'd soon rather we blow the bitch up then talk to her on the _Maury show_."

Kurt laughs and Remy cannot help the smirk. The man relaxes, leaning into the chair but his hold does not falter from Rogue's hand. It becomes an iron grip. "I am not sure why I told you all this. Not even Ororo is aware of my situation or my relations with Rogue."

He turns, brushing strands of blue from his eyes. "And yet, of all the people in the Institute, it felt right to talk to you. Like you have been here." Remy fidgets as Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"Somet'ing like that. Been through a lot in life. Never knew my real parents, we could be related hein?" He tries to make it into a joke but it falls on deaf ears. He doesn't like the warm look in Kurt's eyes as he bows his head over his adjoining hands with Rogue. Remy almost wants to reach for her too.

"Of that, I am sorry friend." Kurt then smiles and it doesn't scare Remy like it would before. He feels comforted by the man, and instantly can tell he'd back up the elf if and when he should start to court Stormy. But he doesn't get too carried away. Remy was still an overprotective little brother and he didn't like to think of his 'sister' Ororo with anyone; not yet anyway.

"But we all go through things in life for reasons we do not know. I am afraid to tell Rogue her plight was for nothing, and yet I think now, perhaps it was. She was made to endure so she would come here. So we could meet." His yellows are hopeful and Remy can't help but smile fondly at him. He sure was a dreamer. "And perhaps it is another reason you are here. With us."

"Because I'm a screw up too?"

Kurt ignores this lame attempt at self depreciation. "Because you are meant to find a family with us. You are right when you say everyone needs a family, blood or not. And the X-Men are a family Remy."

* * *

><p>Logan pulls into the drive way. His bike is parked in the garage. His helmet is thrown by the door and inside Cyke's old car – the one he destroyed and built back together for the grief stricken man in a deep royal blue – is a cooler of Canadian beer. He pops up the top, still ice cold from the previous day and sits on the closed trunk in a heavy heap. He swallows a healthy sip of the dark liquid and hears a click behind him. Scuffling. He sniffs and growls under his breath.<p>

One lone claw extends. He points it into the air, stopping the newcomer in their clunky steel toed boots. "You can't have any."

"Awh c'mon Logan," Remy cajoles, bo staff dropping on to the cemented ground. Logan snorts, throwing him a bottle grudgingly. To him, Remy is still a lanky kid with a too big of a mouth and too small amount of common sense.

But he knows he has to start thinking in the future now. Logan has missed a part of his life; a good chunk of it that scares him and angers him. Almost fifteen years without knowing who he was, what he was and everything was thrown at him in a matter of twelve hours. His mind aches and he is constantly bombarded with images, memories that attack him. It is his mind's way of telling him, of reminding him. But he hasn't learned to control it yet. He hasn't learned to fight against the memories and focus on the now.

But he has to. He has to live in the present. He has to deal with what he did. Storm said as much to him in the gardens. She's been there – lost, without memories of who she was – and she knew just focusing on the present was more imperative than concentrating on who he was.

And he was an animal. He was ruthless. But he had always had his honor. He fought for those that couldn't. That settles his mind as Remy sighs next to him. And makes it easier to focus on the new him; the X-Man second in command, the mentor who teaches self defense, the friend to those at the school. Including Rogue.

He winces in memory. He would never be able to forgive himself for the lesson the day before. The bruise on her shoulder would mock him until it was gone. He knows he didn't purposefully hurt the girl, and was fighting his mind and memories while sparring with Rogue, but he is to blame. He couldn't control the thoughts, the emotions, the memories. It's his fault.

He makes up his mind then. After the beer in his cooler was finished, all seven of them which they might need more now that Remy was helping him with his task, he'd find Rogue and Storm and apologize. He takes another sip. Maybe. If he could stomach it. He hated saying sorry.

The last time he ever said it was to Jean…

He shakes himself. Not now, not again. He wouldn't let self pity and guilt get at him now. He was Wolverine. And once he pulled himself together enough, he'd go after Emma. They had a lot to discuss, including why she blamed him for Kayla's death. Why she should. But also why she was here, now, in the Institute. Why she attacked him.

Logan smirks. He'll get his answers too. He won't let his past hurt the people around him now.

As minutes tick by, Remy rests beside his old friend in companionable silence. He's on his third beer, the bitter taste a welcome relief from his late night. He's suspecting Logan doesn't know about Rogue and by the intense look on his visage he won't be the one to tell him any time soon. He lets it go, finishing his bottle.

Both are so wrapped into their thoughts that minutes turn into hours and before long, the sun is high, the cold of late fall is settling into their bones. Neither moves just yet. Neither wants to deal with reality just yet.

And Logan finds it amusing, that he hasn't seen the kid – man for almost fifteen years, and yet their bond of friendship – if one could call it that – is strong. They sit together, neither talking, and both feel comforted even as the weight of their thoughts consume. Logan hasn't felt this amicable since taking Rogue into his RV.

Logan then nudges Remy with his elbow, his leather jacket from the kind old couple he befriended after his operation, crinkles in the quiet room. He tips his beer, his fourth now, to the side, clinking it against Remy's empty one. He rolls his eyes skyward, a grimace on his thin lips. He knows once he says it, Remy will finish it.

It is oddly comforting, because he knows, this might be the last moment of comfort before trying times.

"Life sucks -"

"An' den you die." They drink heartily thereafter.

* * *

><p>Hank has never seen so many visitors come to one room in his medical unit before. The lovely young woman, Rogue, remains impassive in her bed while the young Robert Drake stands watch at the doorway.<p>

Hank knows her vitals are healthy, that her heart is normal and the brain scan reveals it in a slight healing trance. Memories not her own were being put away and the only way for her mind to do this is by sleeping. And they were quite powerful – driven by emotions from the host and with her newly reemerged powers not yet at the consistent strength made the absorption that much more powerful, uncontrollable to Rogue's fragile mind. And hurtful.

But Hank smiles as he one last time feels her strong heartbeat; she will be fine. She is strong, she is a fighter and in the short amount of time of knowing the young Rogue, he has come to know her as a survivor. In many ways she reminds him of Kate from Shakespeare's play "Taming of the Shrew", but in other ways she seems much frailer than the woman but just as defiant.

Bobby clears his throat pulling Hank from his thoughts. Turning toward him, he is taken back by how a student he has known for much of his residence within the Institute looks older, matured and focused. This is not the charming, boyish Bobby who used to pull pranks in the girl's wing. This is the X-Man who has lived through abandonment of his family, the raid of the Institute, three deaths of adults who cared for him since he was young, and the subsequent break up of a relationship doomed from the start.

"Yes Bobby?" Hank asks, releasing Rogue's wrist with his gloved hand. He guesses any hour she will awaken.

Bobby chews on his bottom lip, ice eyes capturing Hank in concern. He knows there is still closeness between the ex-lovers, but Hank is baffled why now, Bobby appears to care so greatly. It was no surprise when Robert Drake took Rogue under his wing; much had been done for him when he was new at the school with Teresa, the mutant known as Sage; he was reciprocating the favor. He was a caring man, though at times had been disposed to immaturity. But the relationship that followed was a shock – not to mention painful for both parties.

Hank was almost saddened to say he was relieved both removed from each other. Bobby was understanding and patient as he grew, but he could not give Rogue what she required. And she could not give him the normalcy that he craved, for that was all that Bobby wanted in the end. Rogue had seen it, and she had stopped it from continuing because she would not be what he needed. Hank wonders if Bobby knew why.

"Is she going to be alright? I mean, The White Queen didn't do anything in there." He points to his skull and Hanks smiles softly.

"No, Bobby. Rogue will be fine. She is most resilient, and though her powers are unpredictable in their intensity after the Cure's effects, I can safely assume they have adapted to the force of Emma's powers. It is a miracle her powers absorbed Emma at all. Her skin is organic diamond, tough, and as durable as the gems made from the Earth. Maybe we are discovering a new side to Rogue's powers not yet reached until her body was able to experience a reprieve from them?" He turns back to the girl, musing to himself. "She simply has a wonderful gift. Intriguing." He laughs and then looks over at Bobby.

He doesn't share his excitement in the news.

"But she's ok?"

"She's fine." Hank can see the stress leave his shoulders. "Are you alright Robert?"

He scratches the back of his neck, and shrugs. He doesn't remove his eyes from Rogue. "Just worried. About her. I know her powers have been off lately. I wasn't sure if this hurt her or helped her. She hasn't absorbed anyone since…" he makes a vague hand gesture.

They both know Rogue was extremely careful since the return of her powers not to touch anyone. After touching Bobby – and his coma induced trance that had lasted two weeks when her powers had returned in the dead of night – Rogue had removed herself from everyone. She was still positive she'd gain control, which made Hank smile inside, but her isolation was trying. She was frightened to hurt anyone any more. She didn't want them to suffer because of her.

Hank applauds her self-sacrifice but he knows it is unhealthy. She needs to find someone she could be herself with, someone she could love and appreciate. She needed to love someone, who would risk everything for her. Someone that would do that for her, without fear. For Rogue was always frightened of herself, to find someone not afraid, would be the key. That was why Bobby and she failed. She had terrified the young man, whether he knew it not. He had not accepted her, had not wished to take a bullet, so to speak for the girl.

Acceptance. It was all Kate needed; it was all Rogue desired and deserved.

Hank walks to the man, clasping him on the shoulder. "She is scared. But aware. She finds herself at a standstill and she is stubborn enough to not want help yet compassionate enough would not want to endanger anyone. She comes to me for training, but she has done much on her own. Rogue will be fine Robert. She is a survivor."

Bobby smiles gratefully. But he is pushed aside as Logan roars into the room, claws extended on each side of his body. Remy is close at his heels, a bottle of beer still in his hands.

"Logan?" Hank asks, righting a careening Bobby. "What is the matter?"

"What happened?" He's growling, the sound vibrating throughout the rooms. Remy winces, rubbing the bridge of his nose as Hank walks beside his colleague.

"I tried telling him nicely. I says, 'Logan, the Rogue's out for the count'. He goes off tearing up the damned garage like some crazy beast! Now I knows why they call y'the Wolverine."

"Logan," Hank calls, grabbing his arm. They both know in case of strength, Hank can overpower Wolverine, but not for long. He prays he won't have to hold him back. "Rogue is healing from an absorption. She should awaken soon."

"Not good enough Hank," Logan scoffs. He yanks the chair that Kurt had sat in that morning, pulling it to Rogue's side intent on staying with her until her eyes open. Until he can hear her sickly Southern accent that is giving way to the cold Yankee talk and see the fire in her eyes at being pissed at him for what he's done. Or not done. His guilt is tangible and everyone quiets as he rests his hands beside Rogue's cheek, twitching.

He doesn't dare try to force his healing ability on her, not now, not while she recovers from another draining. But he wants to. He wants her better. He told her once that he wasn't her father, but deep down he knows he lies. She needs someone. He wants to be there for her. He feels guilty for leaving her, leaving the school grounds. He should have been here to protect her. Help her. Help all of them. The guilt tears at his guts, making anger cloud his mind.

"Who did she touch?" It is low, soft, but fierce. But none of the men in the room can speak. They wince as he turns, stares at each of them in turn, his grey eyes piercing. Remy clears his throat, about to speak, courage fleeting but Hank steps forward awkwardly. They are afraid of Logan's reaction. They know of their bond. They know of his ordeals. They know how it all ties together with Emma and her fight with Logan the night before. How Rogue risked herself to find them answers that their second command refused to find. Of her strength and his inability.

"Emma Frost, Logan. She wanted to help us understand more. And while you were gone-"

He doesn't finish as Logan storms out of the room. They hear the clatter of metal against metal, the grinding of claws being pushed into the flimsy metal walls and the shouts of pain laced with anger. They hear the elevator whirl and the doors open. Then silence as it slowly ascends.

They are stuck rooted, looking to the ceiling. They don't envy Emma Frost when Logan finds her. Or Ororo who has been with her since Rogue's absorption. They only pray neither of them kill Logan or vice versa.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> So? Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Let me know!

Peace


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

**AN:** I know, right? How dare you not update in two months. Trust me when I say things have been rough; and my love for anything except breathing has been absent. But I'm slowly rebuilding, slowly coming back to things that brought me joy. Slowly "taking back my power" as some people (women mostly – you meet the nicest people in the world when you're least expecting it), have told me. It's a progress.

Now, a revelation I just had when updating my profile – holy crap. I've been on this site for 9 years. _9 years_. That's almost _a decade_. And yet my obsession with cartoons/ comics has yet to go away. I think I need help.

So without any further words, or more meaningless Author Notes, I give you an update; enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>"A burnt child dreads the fire", - English Proverb.<em>

_"Beware of Greeks bearing gifts." – English Proverb._

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><p>Chapter 11<p>

"Listen ice bitch," Logan snarls as he opens the Professor's office. Or would it be considered 'Ro's now that the Prof is gone and she's in charge? It didn't matter. It still looked the same, would smell the same too if the flowers didn't just add a twinge of perfume. Logan sets his eyes on the blonde, her pale blue eyes just as hot with anger as his own navy orbs. Her hands begin to shift into a deadly metallic luster. "You and I need to have a talk." His claws pop out, the 'snitck' whispering in the silent room, answering her quiet challenge. _Try it._ "So start talking."

"Logan," Storm reprimands across the way. She is still in her uniform, her white locks not as lively as normal. He can see the wear in her brown eyes and the edge in her lips. Kurt is sitting on the mantel, his blue speckled jacket hanging off his form along with his new X-Men leather uniform. Lines of red circle along the seams surrounding his groin making it look like a speedo. "Emma is our guest now. She has vital information she wishes to divulge with us. Information you should be aware of too. She was just about to share this _willingly._"

"Information she sent Rogue through a wall for?" He's breathing roughly; his anger is pushing him to maddening levels. He can only see red. "No information is worth that."

Rogue was the one of the few he'd give his life for. She was his friend. He was supposed to protect her. And this woman is really pissing him off with that brilliant smirk she wears along with her dangerously good looking pale face. His claws itch to dig along her jaw, to mar that too white of skin with red.

"Information you should listen to… _Logan_." She spits out and Logan inches forward, growling under his breath as his hands reach out. He is only mildly aware of his actions. He can only imagine ripping her head off from her dainty shoulders.

"That was Rogue's decision Logan." Storm stands, her heels clicking harshly on the wooden beams. The cape is a soft flutter of noise as she places her body between Logan and Emma. Logan can smell the calla lilies instantly. "I let her make that decision." She whispers, catching his one out stretched hand by the wrist. Her hands are soft and warm but the grasp is firm.

He wants to shake her off. He has every right to shake her off, and his arm tightens to do so. Logan pulls back, ready to shove her away if need be but it dies away when he sees the lost look on Storm's face. Her eyes are clouded, lips scrunched to hide behind her perfect mask of indifference and soothing calm. He thinks he is the only one in the mansion that can see her mask; others willingly accept she is calm and a force because she is the leader now and is strong.

Logan knows differently.

She fights for it because if not, Storm will surely crack under the weight of her emotions that are crippling.

He can see she blames herself for Rogue's current situation. She is field leader, she is Head Mistress of the school, and it is her job to protect the students. And she had let Rogue touch Emma, knowing in her heart it was not safe. Rogue's condition is fickle and Storm had been blinded by knowledge that could help the entire school; blinded to the fact it could irrevocably hurt Rogue.

Guilt crashes on to Logan who shakes his head at the tall woman. He is answering her silent questions; do you hate me? Do you blame me? Is this my fault? That last one she already thinks so, it is obvious by the way she bites her bottom lip to hold everything in while still remaining strong. Logan can't fault her though for her choices; in her shoes, Logan would have done the same thing. Without a viable telepath, the only mutant who can give them answers is Rogue.

And it is more important to save many over one. It always would be.

And like a coward Logan had run after the battle with the White Queen so the team really had no one else to ask for help. He wants to blame Storm, he really wants to blame Emma – but ultimately Logan blames himself for Rogue's bed ridden state. If he had stayed, if he had helped…

"You did what you had to do," Logan replies gruffly, rubbing her arm, anger momentarily forgotten. He can feel compassion for 'Ro, his only stable friend since the very beginning of his life with the X-Men. The only one with the balls to tell him either get on board or to jump ship. "You made the right call," he whispers. Her watery brown eyes look at him with something akin to gratitude and adoration. Logan feels choked up.

Then Emma ruins it by sounding off a rude snort. "Can we please get this show on the road? I have places to be, and none of them include being near that beast." Her nose turns up at the thought and she crosses her sullenly.

Closing her eyes, Storm nods silently to Logan. It is a thanks but also a quiet reminder to behave. Logan doesn't hesitate to know she means business; he didn't want a lightning bolt frying his ass anytime soon. "Yes, please Ms. Frost. Tell us what you so desperately needed to say." She turns to look over her shoulder at the scantily clad young woman. "And why you felt the need to attack two of my staff."

Rolling her eyes, Emma picks at her nails. They are painted a fine blue, matching the thin vein that travels her collarbone. Everything about the woman screams of cold, harsh, brute force; of distance and frost. "It's not like I hurt them permanently. And as I told the girl, it isn't my fault you let animals roam your halls. They should be locked away." Her eyes are flat as she looks at Logan. His claws still haven't retracted. "Because they are nothing short of monsters."

"Then the same argument can be made of me," Kurt responds, tail whooshing behind him. Quickly he jumps from the fireplace, height only coming to Ororo's shoulder. He holds up his hand. "I look like a monster, therefore I am one. Correct?"

"That isn't my point-"

"No, you only wish to hold past sins against someone who has already repaid his debts. Though he does not remember said past sins." Storm says smartly, arms crossing over her chest. "Now, you're information?"

Emma huffs, grudgingly respecting the Weather Witch. It has been a long time a woman has been able to put Emma Grace Frost into her proper place. Not since her mother was sober. Which was a long time indeed.

Now facing three members of the core group of the X-Men, Emma stalls. She remembers peering into Xavier's mind, seeing his X-Men flourish in team simulated battles and during the real final ones. Something akin to pride grows in her chest at knowing how the man feels for his students, and how the students still respect the man. Emma can tell most of the mansion has been left as a symbol to the man they adored. But fear creeps up her spine. How will they react to the news? How will they react to her telling them_ this_ sort of news?

And now that Emma has finally figured out who Rogue is – how will they react knowing she is the only one that can bring the Professor out of his unconscious state?

The girl is weakened from the Cure – Emma could feel it during the absorption process. It should have been stronger. The pull should have been greater. Something was holding back a great amount of her power. Emma should have been out much longer than a few minutes; she could tell this just from the brush of skin to skin. Emma felt her mind. The Cure was harnessing still some of her gifts which have not yet been released. It hinders Rogue's full potential, hinders the magnitude of her strength but aids in her development and control.

And Emma can feel it, control is slowly coming; though she doubts Rogue notices it. It is why she is so unbalanced; it's why sometimes it takes longer to absorb or just mere nanoseconds for the rush of memories to assault her. A part of Rogue's brain, the part that knows control, is slowly awakening, slowly coming into its' own without the shock of an absorption hindering its' development. Rogue is learning control; albeit subconsciously. She just had to learn to tap into it consciously.

Emma feels this. Rogue was a powerful mutant, with unknown recesses. Her mind was complex, riddled in mazes. From a brief touch Emma knows Rogue is someone to watch should she be on the other end. No matter how uncertain her powers are now, Rogue will evolve, and she will be formidable.

Emma briefly wonders if the Professor knew this and if he had still been with them, instead of in a comatose body, if he would have developed the part of her brain psychically to allow her control. If so, Emma then is even more uncertain of Rogue's full potential; she will not say scared, for Emma Frost does not know true fear; but uncertain nonetheless.

Then the thoughts leave her as her eyes settle on the waiting X-Men. She bites her lip, sitting up straighter. Was Rogue powerful enough right now to help Xavier? He seemed to think so, but he hadn't exactly been aware that she took the Cure. He had guessed it, but hadn't known. And Rogue's powers are held back, the whole amount and control would be needed to bring Xavier out of his state.

They would need to make Rogue have control; at least some portion of it. Without control, the girl wouldn't be able to touch the Professor without seriously injuring him or even herself. And they would need to find someone strong enough, mentally and with great recesses to develop her control. The bloody school barely had any psychic power, where would they find someone to help?

Emma shakes her head – she didn't rightly care, just that her side of the deal was upheld. Yet being trapped in Rogue's body, flirting between control and not had to be a truly horrible way to live. They would have to make her gain control otherwise Xavier was screwed; and so was Emma.

"Well?" Storm prompts and Emma glares. It's now or never. They might not like her now, but after all this is done, they'll surely hate her. They'll hate that she brought them good news and bad. They'll hate why she was the one to steal the artifact. They hate what she is a part of. Who she is 'destined' to bring back from the grave.

Especially Logan. She cannot stand the man, but she knew how her sister felt about him. And that ebbs some of her anger away knowing the man has killed the woman she is to return. The woman he loved in this life was to come back and continually haunt him. Something in Emma weeps for the man, but her colder side sneers; served him right for leading Kayla to her death.

But can she really fault him when her sister made the choice? When her sister stayed back to find him? When her sister refused help and allowed the bullet to fester and eventually kill her?

No she can't fault him. But it was so much easier to hate him than to understand him. Living among them for only eighteen hours and she's already a bleeding heart. _Perfect_.

She sighs, resolved to her fate. If this was to help her family, to stop Shaw – who she has never been fond of since the moment he thought he could _own _her - she will have to face these people and their possible hate, anger, and grief. And she'll do it gracefully. "I was sent here by someone you know. Professor Charles Xavier."

Before her eyes, Storm grows in height, hands rising into the air, eyes glowing in hot white anger. Her cloudy locks dance with electricity and within seconds a hurtling bolt of opaque is being sent straight into Emma's chest.

Luckily the young woman had been expecting a reaction and had armored herself just as the tip of the lightning bolt struck her chest. It is powerful enough to careen her backwards, the rustic wooden chair flipping with her. Before smacking her head, and her vision darkening, she hears a gruff voice snort, then say: "I like your hospitality 'Ro."

* * *

><p>Rogue clenches her hands against the cool soft sheet. They feel too smooth to be her old worn in sheets. Her eyes are still closed but she breathes, smelling the air. The harsh smell of bleach and antiseptic assaults her nose making her sneeze.<p>

She hears ruffling, and then a much larger hand encases her smaller one. It is warm and instantly she can smell amber, day old cologne and spice with an underlying scent of tobacco. Slowly Rogue's eyes flutter open and lock on to the twin red on black orbs two inches from her nose.

"Y'awake." He breathes and Rogue can tell he's fighting with himself to stay still. His arms tighten, muscles bunching, as if he wants to grab her. "Y'alright?"

"Ah'm fine." She mumbles, cheeks dusting pink from his attention. She pushes back a strand of white hair, noticing her gloves off.

She springs forward, snaking her hand away from Remy. Her heart is pounding, the threat of another absorption in her head. First Bobby, then Emma. She could still hear her rants within her mind, echoing out even though she's spent the better part of the last twelve hours locking her away. Her psyche is strong and it doesn't help she's telepathic.

"It's okay _chere_," he sighs, pulling his hand from the sheets. He waves them; their gloved. He must know about her powers and Rogue is at once disappointed to have a part of herself shared so openly and yet grateful that she doesn't have to explain her curse; or a blessing as Kurt has told her. "Just didn't think you wanted to be alone in dere. It can be lonely on y'own."

"Somethin' like that," she mutters, not wanting to discuss her emotions with the stranger. But something about him draws Rogue to him. Perhaps it is Logan's influence, having known the man when he was younger and knowing how _good_ he could be if persuaded correctly. He's honorable even if he has made poor choices in the past; Logan vouches for him inside her mind as images of him flying a plane and helping a pack of kids run for safety comes to her unheeded.

Or perhaps it is Emma the White Queen in her head – she has a foul mouth and wandering eyes that have noticed the moment since Remy has spoken, how delectable he is.

But Rogue knows in the end it is her personal attraction toward the man – older, charming, dangerous, and kind. She can feel a good vibe beneath his rough exterior and a kinship not easily experienced with those in the Institute. She's only ever felt it with Logan and Kurt, strangely enough. Not even Bobby could connect with her on that level.

"Who brought me here?" She asks, tugging at her strands, instead of drooling at the man in front of her. Instead she thinks about herself; she needs a shower, a new change of clothes and her gloves. Because she cannot help the want to reach out and touch the man sitting to her left.

"I did," he states softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed to her left. He's close enough to offer comfort but far enough not to intrude on her space. Oddly, she feels respected; no one else has ever thought of her want for distance before and accommodated her. "After y'and Emma had your moment, I brought ya back here. Y'were shifting in your sleep, from human to diamond self. You kept screaming somethin' fierce too."

Rogue nods, rubbing her forehead. Images come to her, blurry and unknowing easily. She sees a man with black eyes grinning over a desk; she feels the love of an older brother hiding his true self; she remembers a soft smile of an older half sibling, not ever seen again. She shakes her head, making the images recede. "She's one messed up lately," she jokes lightly. She points to her head. "She's pretty dark in there."

"Ain't gotta tell me twice," he smiles. Rogue notices the wear on him; he's still in his battle uniform.

She smiles tiredly, leaning against the pillows, hiding under the covers more; more to do with the effect his eyes are having on her, instead of the way her little clothing provides next to no protection should something happen. She feels like burrowing and running away; his eyes warm her and _burn_ her. Just having him near her makes her want to touch him; to feel if he is as hot as his eyes are.

She knows this isn't healthy; she knows she should be more attentive and know that a simple brush of skin to skin would be deadly. She knows she should shrink away and hide. She knows this because she has done it with everyone; even with friends though she wants them not to be frightened; it is her way, her wall. But she doesn't want the wall now. She doesn't feel the need to be careful around this charming devil; she's feeling reckless.

She doesn't want to hide here and now. Not with him. Not here, when she needs a friend, and she can't fight the attraction of having him so close or the thrill of wearing next to nothing with him on the bed. It's been a long time since Rogue has felt any emotion outside of her normal moodiness. Finally she feels alive and wanted; his eyes tell her as much though she tries to ignore the hot glances. She is still naive though not as much as Logan would believe. Greedily she takes it all in, enjoying the rush, powers be damned.

"You stayed the whole time with me?"

He ducks his head, chuckling softly. He shrugs, not quite looking at her, but the far wall. If she didn't know him so well (thank you Logan), she'd say he is almost embarrassed. "I did. I didn't feel right leaving you by y'self. I did for a moment though, to check on Logan." He shrugs again, whistling low. "Boy just about threw a tantrum when he saw you here. The metal walls by the old med lab are torn to pieces. You two are close."

Rogue smirks, face prettily blushing. Though she was still mad, well irritated, at Logan; at running, at being afraid, she won't deny they are close. And the fact that he ran from himself is nothing short of what she has done in the past; twice now. She easily forgives him, even for the bruises that have healed. That's what friends do.

It's as much as she said to Emma; Logan wasn't a beast, and she wouldn't treat him like one because he did the most human thing he could've when he was faced with a reality he couldn't understand. He ran. Rogue did it. She doesn't care now that he did. In fact, she empathizes with him for it.

But also knowing Logan, he sees her in the bed as his fault. He is protective and takes responsibility for her; he has since he first found her. She adores him for it, but she is an adult now and she can very well make her own decisions. She would have to set him straight on that; it was her choice. It's her power. It's her life.

But first thing is first; she has to know about the man in front of her. She feels compelled to keep the conversation going even if she knows there are more pressing issues around her. Something, a doubt, a hint of a memory comes to her… but it is faint, and she'd rather talk to the charming man in front of her.

"We are. He's the closest that Ah have to family here," she smiles, shyly adjusting another strip of white behind her ear. She's coy; Remy likes that about her. "Him and Kurt anyway." Rogue completely misses Remy's shocked expression and chews on her lip in thought. "They watch out for me like two over protective brothers. It's nice sometimes."

Remy nods in understanding, though his hot eyes have dimmed yet the want is still there. It makes Rogue feel special. "We all need family _chere_," he adjusts his legs, coming closer. Since she hasn't rebuked his nearness, he tries to push closer. She draws him to her like a moth to a candle. She's forbidden, she is lush and he desperately wants to kiss her pale lips…

He shakes himself. Boy, he needs help. It's been too long, he thinks, since he's been with a woman. That must explain his desperate need to be near the innocent vixen. "Stormy and me? We's pretty close too; like brother and sister."

"Ah noticed," she laughs lightly. "She's a good person to have in your corner. 'Ro is…" she smiles, though her eyes are distant. "When the Professor passed, and when Jean and Scott did too," Remy notices the slight tremble in her bottom lip and hands. The grief was still fresh; he wonders idly if what Kurt said was true. The X-Men are a family; misfits bound together by understanding. It sure is different than his home life. "'Ro took control so easily. She stepped right in. She helped us to reopen the doors. She helped us to grieve." She shrugs good naturally. "She's amazing."

"_Mon Dieu_, I know _chere_." He laughs roughly. "She's helped this scamp out more times than I can remember."

Soon they find themselves into a deep conversation, explaining the different times one of more people has helped to save their sorry asses. Remy feels himself relax, calmed in a way that oddly reminds him of home; of soft jasmine blooms assaulting the bayou air with their perfume, of long sweeping willow trees hiding youngsters from their parents, and smoking cigarettes without their knowledge; of him saving a blonde girl from a bunch of thugs, and her stealing his heart in thanks.

Though that memory should frighten him, it only makes him feel _better_; like coming home after years of travel.

The warmth of their conversation draws them both closer until Remy can see the light day old make up on Rogue's eyelids, and see her stark grey emerald eyes are a fine green, like nothing he has seen before, hidden behind thick auburn eyelashes. Her rosebud mouth, light pink like a lotus is tempting and Remy draws even closer. Her words barely make it into his ears. The self preservation telling him to calm down dies away – he doesn't remember her power can hurt him and frankly he doesn't care. He's always been a rebel and used to shutting out his conscious.

"…Then Kurt teleported me back on to the plane! Storm had to try and steer us down safely and luckily enough we were able to land without any real problems." She's excited, talkative and Rogue realizes this is the first in months she's actually wanted to talk. Since Bobby and her broke up, since Logan's random missions to take in more at risk mutants in far distant states, since Jean's been gone (a confident in the past) and 'Ro off attending to school matters, Rogue has been out of the loop. She's missed companionship (though she does get a good dose with Petey, just the more silent type and a constant exercising partner which she cherishes) and for the first time in awhile being with Remy has made the normally reluctant girl come out of her festering shell.

Then she notices his lips are in her view; the day old stubble that surrounds a strong jaw and twin red on black eyes are staring at her own lips with deep fascination. Her blood warms up, making her chest and cheeks faintly hot.

It's those same eyes that cause her head to spin; and not in a good way.

Suddenly she's inside a warehouse, his eyes still trained on her lips, yet instead of the sheer intent look, this one is of coy hunger and flirtatious arrogance. She feels her mind explode and she's teleported to another place; where the world is black and grey and she hears a voice of someone she thought she would never hear again.

Remy watches as Rogue leans forward, biting the corner of her plump mouth before she is rocketed back against the high stack of pillows, eyes shutting against an unseen pain. It doesn't take long for Remy to jump, grabbing her shoulders to steady her as tears leak from her covered eyes. She's screaming – sobbing, crying out and the sound rips his heart out of his chest – but he holds her as best he can with flailing arms and legs.

"Rogue? Rogue! Y'okay in there? Can ya hear me?"

But the words fall on deaf ears as Rogue pushes up in a rapid motion, seeing but unseeing, forehead smacking against Remy's sharp chin. The physical pain jolts her out of the memories, the images that she wishes she didn't see – but then again she is glad she saw and she smiles, wet tracks down her cheeks. She saw him. She heard him _– the Professor_.

"He's still alive!" She shouts, kicking the covers from her bare legs. She's only in a dressing gown that she knows Hank clothed her in; but she doesn't care. She notices Remy doesn't flinch when she bares more skin and oddly she feels empowered.

She remembers that even now sometimes her friends do.

"Who's alive girl?" He asks confused, pushing stray auburn locks from his forehead. His chin is throbbing but he ignores the pain to focus on her heart shaped face. Rogue is watching him brimming with excitement. She notices the black tie has slipped and pieces are framing his face; it makes him look even more rugged. "What are you talking about?"

"The Professor!" She grips his arms, luckily covered with his trench coat and yanks. Hard. Remy is surprised by her strength. "Help me up, Remy. Ah need to talk to 'Ro and Logan." She stands on shaky legs, thoughts of moving propelling her though her legs remain unchanged. Her mind is barely making sense but she knows what she has to do; what she has to say. Could it really be him? "He's alive! She's here to help!"

"What?" Remy asks again, feeling as if the world is too quick for him to grasp. His arms snake around her waist – curved, but tight and he can't help but remember how her lips looked and he _was this close_ – but holds her steady as she fumbles to the door. She doesn't notice the touch, too caught up n her thoughts and actions.

If she had, Remy knows she would've pulled away. He'd like to think because it was him and not another male, that maybe she wouldn't. He deludes himself to think it's true.

She's speaking incoherently, but Remy (being the gentleman that he is) doesn't mind because she's in his arms and _mon Dieu_, it feels so_ right_. Carefully they enter and exit the elevator and as if possessed Rogue practically drags him toward Storm's office. She knows they'll be in there, she knows because _she_ (Emma, he gathers from the bits of conversation coming from her mouth that makes sense) planned on having a conversation in the Professor's office.

The door whips open, Rogue having abandoned his arms in favor of walking on her own; he's slightly disappointed and yet impressed by her strength and will. She's barely tittering now. Remy glances around and sees a diamonded woman is lying on the floor, groaning as Storm is being held back by Kurt across the way. Her eyes are white and Logan's smirk and arrogant stance tells Remy everything.

"Ah so y'already know about the Prof eh?" He states bluntly, having six sets of eyes on him; Emma doesn't count because her eyes closed against the pain he's sure Stormy's bolt gave her.

But he doesn't have to explain before Rogue jumps in. "She's telling the truth!" She's jumping around, her legs shaking under strain, her palms sweating wildly. Remy can feel a slight fever burning in her body and he steadies a hand on the small of her back to settle her.

He'd like to pretend he doesn't see the joint stares from all three X-Men, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't notice. It makes him inch closer to the girl; _always the rebel, breaking rules_. That was him alright.

"Rogue, child, calm yourself." Ororo soothes, righting the anger inside of her to a deep dark place that she reserves all negative or harmful emotions. Remy knows all about Stormy's dark side. It almost makes him pull away from the girl. "Speak again, slowly."

"Emma is telling ya the truth," she says after gulping down a breath of fresh air. Remy can smell the exotic perfume of the flowers by the windows and instantly he's reminded of Ororo in her native lands. "The Professor is alive!"

"Well it's about time you woke up," The White Queen grumbles, easing herself up to the floor. Her elbows prop her up, and her ice blue gaze surrounded by her organic metal scares Remy; just slightly. She looks like a cold statue. "And of course I was telling the truth. Lying doesn't help me right now."

Rogue ignores her. "Ah saw it, in my head." She points to her skull as Logan comes closer. He grips her head in both palms, the curtain of hair helping him not to be drained by his friend and pupil. "She's telling the truth. He came to her – asked for her help to bring him back!"

"You didn't hit your head or anything in there, did you kid?" Logan asks lowly, kind eyes staring into Rogue's wide and excited ones. The green really pops when she's excited.

She stares at him thoughtfully; the question is more than a simple yes or no. He's asking if she forgives him; he's asking if she could ever forgive him for running. After all it's not like Logan to back down from a fight; he's too honorable. Too just no matter what he might be running from.

Rogue doesn't even hesitate as she hugs him, subconsciously careful to wrap her arms around his middle, his leather jacket crinkling as Logan returns the gesture. Remy backs away after Logan gives him a warning look; this was his time now with Rogue and he was not to intrude. The hand leaves her back and he stands beside Storm. She raises an eyebrow but refuses to comment.

"Very touching," Emma remarks dryly. She is standing now, her cape pushed back and her uniform casting her body into the light. Remy is male, so he glances; but his eyes never last long as they go back to Rogue who is pulling from Logan. "Can we get on with this?"

"Emma is telling the truth, Logan." Rogue says again, still ignoring the White Queen. She's irritated and Remy smirks; he can feel Kurt obvious pleasure at annoying the woman too. "The Professor is in a comatose body; the one we were studying in his class a year ago. He needs us to release him."

"How?" Kurt asks, tail twitching behind him. His eyes are glowing in the afternoon sun. "We're not even sure if that's possible. And if so, who would have the capabilities of bringing a man back from death?" It doesn't take anyone long to figure out that Kurt might not like the idea of disturbing those who have found peace.

Emma doesn't care; she steps forward, pushing her blonde hair from her eyes. "I'm needed as well as Rogue is to draw him out. The Professor hasn't explained exact details yet, but he said Rogue is very much needed to do this. Whatever this is."

"No," Logan snarls, gripping Rogue closer to his side as if protecting her from an unseen threat. Kurt stands to block her from the White Queen, fangs bearing in his blue face. His yellow orbs begin to glow and Remy feels the back of his neck itch with tension.

"You will not hurt her further."

"Guys!" Rogue shouts, glaring at both of them in turn. Though her body is weak, her mind is sharp; her glare is hot and both men flinch as her hands find her hips. "It's my choice." Her lips curl up in irritation, a sure sign of Logan's influence. "And if the Professor, who Ah know is alive and not dead," her eyes fix on her brother, who she doesn't know is her brother… Remy shakes his head slightly. "Then Ah'm gonna help."

She walks away from both men, pushing her way through them. Unlike others, like Bobby or Kitty, they do not flinch or retreat because she has bare skin around them; they simple are pushed away. Standing in front of Emma, Rogue offers her hand, unclothed, to the woman. Emma just looks at it; though she is gloved, it does not mean she will still shake the young woman's hand. Even Emma has a limit of generosity.

"Ah understand you not wantin' to touch my hand or anything, but consider this an offer. Ah'm in whatever you need to do to bring him back." Emma's face remains cold, but something in her eyes – respect, gratitude – flashes in the depths of her blue orbs and Rogue smiles softly. "But Ah do have one request. Knowing the Professor, he'd only be trying to come back for one huge reason. What might that be?"

"The question of the century," Remy whistles low in the quiet room. He knows something is up from the statue he stole for her; he's not as obvious as some would believe. A friend in the family told him a few interesting details. Including that the statue is rumored to bring back a renewing sources of power; something that can become reincarnated, a source or power so fierce that only one person in history has been showed to possess it. Someone who is already dead.

Emma freezes in her tracks as she looks to the thief; he knows. And she gulps silently.

It's time or never to fully tell them. Apparently Rogue doesn't quite remember the White Queen's true mission, and rightly so; Emma spent most of her days within the Hellfire Club hiding from it. She barely thinks on the mission; no way Rogue would easily access that information, no matter how powerful the girl is.

And truly she is strong; Emma feels a bloom of respect in her chest that she pushes away. She didn't need to be a bleeding heart now, making friends. She'd have to shake their world a bit further.

"Well?" Logan prompts and Emma glares righteously at him.

"I'm destined, from an unknown source to bring back-"the earth shakes, and the X-Men plus their resident thief and diamond intruder fall to the ground in crumpled heaps. Logan is the first one to react as his body is catapulted against the fall wall. Storm shouts out, and Kurt teleports to his side, manually pulling him from his entrapment. But he doesn't budge. And the house continues to shake.

"Oh bloody hell, since when does New York get earthquakes*?" Emma yells out, her hands shifting into her diamond form, gripping the wooden planks. Rogue falls to the ground, limbs tangling as Remy drops to her side, his body protectively covering over her own. No one deems it necessary to comment.

"Magneto!" Logan growls, teeth clenching as his limbs and bones betray him. They are frozen to the wall, and it takes everything in him to mutter out the next words. "He's here!"

Bobby, Piotr, Kitty and Betsy enter the office, holding on to the hinges as the floor beneath them disrupts their balance. Betsy glares out the window as Angel and Beast take off toward an unseen enemy. "There's someone on the front lawn," she shouts, British accent refined and punctuated in the chaos. "Some of us have taken to engage."

"Stand down!" Storm yells, careening back into the wall. Her back slams against it and her eyes glaze over into a deep white, her brown orbs are now hazy. "Kurt, stay with Logan. X-Men, follow me!" She takes to the air, the wind currents lifting her lithe frame; she is unhindered by the shaking world and easily goes towards the front. Without another word, everyone else follows.

Rushing to the main entrance, Storm blows the doors open with a high pact wind, shattering the glass windows on either side. She lifts into the air as Bobby becomes Iceman, Kitty is now Shadowcat and Piotr transforms into his metal self, Colossus. Psylocke, stands with nimble agility below Storm, her palms glowing a vibrant purple the color of her heavy locks, flanked by a panting Beast and a wincing Angel. Only Rogue and Gambit stand in the doorway, holding on for composure.

"Ah, looks like I was interrupting. Should I come back later?" Magneto remarks, standing before them, hands rising into the air as anything with a relation to metal bends to his command.

Storm is positively growling as the sky above them darkens. Grey clouds of various disturbances grow and churn as she points one lone finger on to their enemy; a man that is responsible for both Jean's death, Scott's death and the Professor's now apparent disappearance. Her hair flies as she moves closer. "This is my home. These are my students. And you are not welcome here!"

As she shouts a lightning bolt of brilliant white and blue casts from the sky landing directly in front of Magneto. Mystique, who is couched behind him, jumps back, pulling her leader with her movements.

"I dare say we're not still angry about the battle on Alcatraz are we?" He shouts over the roar of the storm brewing overhead.

At the calculating look of the Weather Witch's face, he cannot help but become somber. "You were not the only ones who lost someone that day. I lost men. Charles was my greatest friend and ally."

"And yet you let him die!" Shadowcat shouts back, face red and angry as an old wound is ripped open by Magneto's confession. Iceman holds her back, another arm cradling her stomach in comfort and support. No one can forget how much the Professor's death affected Kitty; how it hurt them all that he had been kind too. Rogue steels herself, against the onslaught of tears that threaten to fall.

Magneto watches as he does all things; and sees there are differences since the last time they all met. Including how a certain cat is now with her best friend's boyfriend. He lets the thoughts go for now. There will be time later to meddle.

"I did no such thing little one. If you had been there, you would've known that not even I could've stopped Jean from killing her mentor."

"You could've tried," Storm snaps, anger filling her as the ground stops moving. She doesn't dare divulge the news they were just told. Erik looks up at her, face ashen under his hard metallic helmet. He almost looks remorseful but she doesn't dwell on the emotions.

A low growl is heard throughout the mansion as Logan sprints through the office window; he somersaults through the grass, claws out at the ready as Kurt teleports into the fray, the White Queen holding on to his shoulder with one gloved hand.

Her white face to colored green. "I'm think I'm going to vomit," she says with disgust as Logan stalks toward the graying mutant.

"You better have a good reason for stopping by bub," he picks the front of his shirt up, holstering the old man into the air. The younger mutants are intrigued; Magneto would never allow Wolverine near him so quickly. If anyone, Logan should still be trapped to a wall.

Even Storm is curious now and falls to the ground softly.

Rogue approaches Wolverine's side, a brown trench coat now adorning her petite frame; Gambit had said her state of dress wasn't really appropriate for "guests". "Why are you here?" She asks coldly, glaring at both mutants.

Erik sighs as if defeated. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," he croons, letting Mystique pull away from him. Pyro is still like a forgotten vegetable on the soft damp grass; the bitter cold is starting to blow and Rogue hunches further into the jacket.

"Oh my stars and garters, what have you done to him?" Beast asks as he moves closer. Though he only knew the man in passing when he had been a resident at the mansion, Beast feels a comrade with the young man. He touches his hand to his forehead and winces. "He's cold. Too cold for someone with his power."

"Another reason we are here," Magneto replies, easing out of Wolverine's grasp. It's not hard if he uses his gifts to let himself down gently. "My young friend has been held captive by the United States government and is in need of care."

"They used what looks like a replicated_ Cure_ to harness his gifts." Mystique explains, warily watching Beast who is hovering around the boy like a frightened mother hen, to the blue man in the back of the group. His reproachful gaze makes her turn away quickly. "Without fire, Pyro has become almost unresponsive."

"It's a part of his mutation," Hank explains easily. "He lives through the fire. Without it, he dies away."

"We will help him," Ororo says from behind Logan. She looks anything but charitable. "But what common enemy do we have, that brought you to my doorstep?"

Gambit smirks as he comes closer. "We were just starting to get into some fun stuff, so make it quick hein?" The staff is resting calmly enough on his shoulders, but those that have seen his talents shudder with the invisible threat.

Erik smiles, wrinkles pulling on his face; he looks like a new person again. But as his eyes waver, they settle on Rogue and then the man at his side; if he wasn't so fiercely hated, they would see the glimmer of sadness before he pushes it away. "Why you're old friend and resident doctor. Ms. Jean Grey."

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:<span>** Dun, dun, duhhh! How's that for an update? Some Romy, though not as much as even I would like. It's coming. Breakthroughs and plot development got in the way; you know how it goes.

"Oh bloody hell, since when does New York get earthquakes*?" – Relating to the fact that just a few months ago NY State did indeed have an earthquake, one of the worst for us (since we just don't get earthquakes). A little ode to reality and to those that said the exact same thing when the earthquake happened.

So? Drop me line!

_Peace_


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